


Don't You Forget About Me (Don't Don't Don't Don't)

by Traumedic



Category: Animaniacs
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Family Bonding?, Hurt feelings, More tags will be added as the fic updates, Ralph the Guard, magic is a whole thing because why not, minor appearances from other chars, protective older brother yakko, slow to start, thaddeus plotz being a bastard man, warner siblings being warner siblings until stuff happens then the angst really begins, wholesome moments, will smith pose: what if i caused the warner siblings some heartache and angst and hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traumedic/pseuds/Traumedic
Summary: Thaddeus Plotz is willing to do anything to get rid of the Warners. He can't stand the way losing even a (ha) single hay penny out of his account nearly reduces him to internal tears. When Plotz seeks help through questionable means, eager to keep his part in this scheme 'under the table', things go awry for the Warner trio.
Relationships: Dot Warner & Wakko Warner & Yakko Warner
Comments: 93
Kudos: 152





	1. At the End of his Rope

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning: This fic is slowish to start up, the Warner part in this chapter is small-ish, but the chapters should be Warner-centric after this chapter.  
> I am, in fact, bad at titles. 80s music take this away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 01/31/2021 I have rewritten a good portion of this chapter.   
> Thank you for reading!

Thaddeus Plotz drummed his fingers atop his desk, the other hand propping up his head as he stared at the window at a certain eyesore: that tower, that damned _water tower_ plagued his waking moments. Well, not the tower itself per se, but what it represented, who dwelled inside—whether they wanted to or not. 

Plotz didn’t have even two seconds to himself before his secretary had informed him that the Warners had left a studio set in _shambles_ , the director was **furious** and threatening to bring the entire production to a screeching halt if Plotz didn’t pay for the damages—plus a little extra for _emotional anguish_. Plotz had no choice but to dole out the cash the director had demanded, the movie he was working on had been too hyped up, would rake in too much money for Plotz to be stingy now. If Plotz refused, there wasn’t a single doubt in the CEO’s mind that the director would take his script to another studio, a studio that didn’t have a Warner infestation to ruin things. 

It wasn’t long before his secretary returned with **another** report of damage left in the Warners wake, another veritable **sea** of checks and apologies sent out as reparation. _Another_ phone call was made to Ralph, demanding to know why he was sitting on his lazy behind instead of doing his job and catching those damned Warners?! It didn’t surprise Plotz that Ralph seemed bewildered, the guard didn’t know that the Warners had caused more devastation on Plotz’s beloved lot. The realization as to just how _clueless_ Ralph was only served to incense the CEO, and Plotz slammed the phone down on its receiver in his rage. 

For a solid minute or two, Plotz entertained the thought of searching for another security guard, only for it to be dismissed when he recalled the fact there were no other guards willing to work for as little as Ralph did, nor work as **hard** as Ralph did; the man was just too ignorant to realize he hadn't gotten a raise in _years._

Plotz didn’t even feel bad about it, if the man was too stupid to ask for a raise, well that was his _own_ damn fault, Plotz wasn’t running a charity, after all. Besides, why would he reward Ralph when the guard was hard-pressed to succeed at his job? He didn’t catch the Warners enough for Plotz entertain the notion of rewarding his efforts, no matter how often Ralph asked for assistance or even something better than a mere _butterfly net_ to catch them with. 

It wasn’t Plotz’s problem. 

Plotz was the **CEO** , he was the one making demands, was the one telling others what to do, it was the job of his underlings to figure out how to get it done, on time and within the budget. 

It was his job, right now, to wait until his secretary decided to get up, do her job, and _bring him his coffee and today’s newspaper_. Such an exhausting chore, at least to Plotz. Why did he have to wait _so long_? When he’d asked that very question to his secretary, she’d given him a bewildered look, and stated something along the lines of: _”Every time I went to make your coffee, the phone would ring, and I would have to answer it and set up another appointment. Or you would call me into your office to write something down for you, hindering my progress.”_ Excuses, excuses. Plotz really needed to find a better secretary, one that didn’t complain about doing the bare minimum. 

Plotz _supposed_ he could deign himself to getting a head start on the day’s work: looking over scripts, micromanaging budgets, yelling at accountants, putting the fear of God into anyone who dared step out of line. 

But. He didn’t want to. He just wasn’t at the _top of his game_ before he had his morning coffee or had a chance to read the newspaper. He’d already had to deal with the Warners latest cavalcade of destructive nonsense right off the bat, he deserved a break. A lengthy one at that. 

_Finally_ , after three **agonizing** minutes of waiting, Plotz’s secretary opened the door, coffee in one hand, and the latest newspaper tucked under her arm. She eased the door shut behind her before she turned to face Plotz, making her way to his desk. 

“Any more reports on those damned children?” Plotz asked, sounding weary. 

“The Warners?” She questioned. It was no secret Plotz didn’t care much for _any_ child, let alone the Warners. She set the cup of coffee on his desk to his right, then set the newspaper down in front of him, spinning it so he could read it instead of it being upside down. 

“Of course!” He exclaimed, slamming a fist on his desk. The cup shook and sloshed coffee atop his desk. For once, Plotz had the presence of mind to look apologetic as his secretary quirked a brow at him. Luckily for her, she was prepared, this wouldn’t be the first time—nor the last time—that Plotz would let his rage regarding the Warners cause himself problems. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and wiped up the spilled drink. 

“As far as I know the Warners are done playing on the lot.” 

“Playing?! More like destroying! More like _trying_ to give me a heart attack from all the damage related costs they are accruing!” 

Plotz’s secretary didn’t look impressed, giving him a flat look as she spoke next. “They’re just children. Children are...destructive on occasion. They’re not trying to upset you personally.” 

“’On occasion’?! Those damned Warners **know** what they are doing and delight in hurting me _and_ my checkbook!” Plotz’s face had turned a brilliant shade of red from all the shouting he was doing. 

His secretary let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, before giving a slight nod. There was no point in arguing with him, no point in trying to point out that Plotz had never been kind to them in their lives, so why would they be kind in turn? 

Instead, she pointed to the remaining coffee in his cup. “Your coffee is going to go cold, Sir.” 

Plotz had almost forgotten about his coffee, and his newspaper. He cleared his throat, taking a moment to straighten his tie. “Ah, of course. Thank you. That is all.” 

Plotz waited until his secretary had left, shutting the door behind her, before he picked up his newspaper and began to skim through the articles. Nothing regarding the Warner Brothers studio had made the front page—something that Plotz hoped would change soon—he needed investors, directors, and actors alike to be interested in his studio, to _want_ to work for or with the studio. He wanted money. He wanted fame. He wanted _power_. 

Plotz thumbed past the boring articles regarding the community and rolled his eyes at one in particular detailing another CEO donating thousands of dollars to a local hospital to help them afford new equipment. What a joke. It was the hospital’s fault for not charging more to the patients. Let the hospital go bankrupt for all Plotz cared. 

Plotz came to a stop at his second favorite section of the newspaper: _Help Wanted ads_. 

It wasn’t rare for Plotz to find a member of staff he’d fired without remorse offering their services in the Help Wanted section. He enjoyed seeing how far they had fallen, how desperate they were to still scrape by. Any particular member of staff he fired shouldn’t have drawn his ire, should have begged his forgiveness, at least then they wouldn’t have to offer their services on the last few pages of a damned _newspaper_. 

Plotz’s gaze was caught by a certain ad. It wasn’t an actor or director begging for a job, nor the usual sea of maid and dog walking services, but...a promise to ‘solve’ a problem. Plotz was willing to spend a few moments looking it over. 

In oversized, bold letters it read: 

_Are you suffering from problems beyond your control? Do you spend your valuable time trying to figure out a solution instead of on what really matters in life? Do you believe the ends justify the means? If so, look no further!_

A number was listed underneath, printed in italics just to draw more attention to it. Plotz read over the ad again, then a third time, then he laid the newspaper down flat on his desk. How desperate was he? How far was he willing to go to get rid of the Warners? 

More importantly: how much was this going to cost him? 

The internal question was immediately followed by the sound of something exploding, and the raucous laughter of the very individuals he’d been thinking of. 

Plotz ran a hand down his face with a groan and pulled his phone closer to himself before picking up the receiver. 

_Whatever_ the cost, he was willing to pay. Surely, with the Warners gone once and for all, he’d make up for the lost sum in no time.

* * *

Where the water tower had once been their prison, it was really the only place the Warners could call home either. It mirrored a theme with them, things simultaneously being what should be considered polar opposites at the same time. They were both children and easily older than anyone around them, too zany to be wanted and yet other studios were more than happy to ‘rent’ them for their productions, the list went on and on. 

Their previous prison was the one place they could be themselves and consider themselves ‘safe’ from the ire of Plotz. Their tower was also one of the places they wouldn’t be judged harshly for being themselves, as the only inhabitants were the absolutely zany Warners themselves. 

For the moment, it was less Plotz they were avoiding and moreso Dr. Scratchansniff. The last they’d seen him, he’d seemed eager to get the trio in for another session, when was the man going to give up and realize they would do anything and everything to avoid actually talking about feelings and ‘baring their souls’ to him? That last part just sounded lewd to them and was often met with an air kiss and a swift _‘Goodnight, Everybody!’_ from Yakko. 

For now, the eldest Warner in question was content to bury his face in a book. They’d already wrecked two of the buildings on the lot with ease, any more after that and it would simply become repetitive, boring, _cliché_. The Warners destroyed on a whim, not because it was expected from them. 

That, and the director in the first studio had said—verbatim and _to her face_ —that Dot’s beloved yellow flower scrunchie was _overdone, childish, and tacky_. What kind of siblings would Yakko and Wakko be if they didn’t help destroy the studio at their sister’s behest? 

Wakko took one look at the cover of the book Yakko was reading and grimaced. Why was it _always_ Shakespeare or some long-dead individual who wrote subjects so dull it nearly made Wakko’s eyes bleed? Singing about long-dead authors was one thing, but reading them? Something else entirely. He knew now that if he bothered Yakko, his older brother would only ramble endlessly about the book, and it would be equivalent to watching paint dry. Wakko loved his brother dearly, but sometimes he could be so _boring_. 

Dot, on the other hand, seemed to be fussing with a magazine, the fur over her eyes furrowing as she looked over a particular page. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she muttered to herself. “They call **that** fashionable? She looks like she’s wearing a tube of toothpaste! And not even a name brand kind!” Truth be told, Wakko didn’t care much for fashion, but between the two options, he would take colorful pictures over the mind-numbing books his brother read avidly any day. 

The look that Dot gave Wakko as he hopped onto the couch spot next to her was nothing short of murderous, but it was swiftly replaced with her flipping the magazine where Wakko could see it with ease, her need to commiserate over fashion faux pas outweighing how he’d interrupted her. 

“Can you believe this?” Dot demanded, pointing at the dress she’d been grumbling to herself about. “Would _you_ go out in public dressed like **that**?” 

While Wakko didn’t care nearly as much about fashion as his sister, even _he_ had to agree the dress itself was a monstrosity. The dress was a thing of nightmares, could probably make people’s eyes _bleed_ if they had to look at it long enough. 

He gave a shake of his head, tongue flopping as it hung out of his mouth with the motion. A mischievous glint lit up his eyes, “Although...could you imagine torturing Plotz with an outfit like that?” 

Dot’s expression rapidly switched from disgust to amused to a grimace to what could only be described as _plotting_. 

“A horrible dress for a horrible man.” She surmised with a grin that was all teeth. “A perfect match. We’ll have to remember that one.” She dog-eared the page of the magazine before continuing on, turning the magazine just enough that both of them could peruse the pages with ease. 

Wakko had to admit, as much as he didn’t care about fashion, it _was_ entertaining to poke fun at the horrible outfits that humans deemed ‘in style’.

* * *

One hushed phonecall—terrified the Warners would somehow hear him if he spoke any louder—and two hours later, a man that could only be described as ‘shady looking’ stood in front of Plotz’s desk. The mysterious man was dressed in dark gray robes, like a modern-day caricature of a wizard. 

If this had been under any other circumstances, Plotz would never have given this man the time of day, but...the Warners demanded solutions that Plotz normally would not entertain; besides, if this didn’t pan out, he could simply sue for false advertising, it would be a win-win in his book—pocketbook, that is. 

The man who’d come to see him stood with his arms folded in front of himself, hands steepled as he looked at Plotz, waiting for his explanation as to why exactly Plotz had called him at all. 

Plotz, for a split second, seemed hesitant. Maybe this was going a bit too far, maybe the Warners weren’t bad enough to warrant whatever means this guy would deem ‘justified’, but such lenient thoughts were forgone almost a swiftly as they had appeared. The Warners were terrible, _rotten_ children, and they would be better off gone **forever** than remaining a never-ending thorn in his side. 

“So, Mister, uh...” Plotz began, almost nervously. How did one properly begin a conversation with a stranger on how to permanently get rid of three kids without sounding awkward? 

“My name is not important.” The man responded, sounding almost bored. “What **is** important, Mr. Plotz, is what job you called me here to do.” 

Quick and to the point, Plotz could respect that. 

“Yes, well,” Plotz cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. “I have a problem with a few certain individuals,” He lowered his voice as if speaking their shared last name would somehow summon them. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Warners...” 

The man nodded but did not speak, simply waiting for Plotz to continue. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the CEO would be more than happy to rant and rave to him about just what problems they were causing him. His theory was proven correct when Plotz continued on two seconds later, without the slightest bit of prompting. 

“They’ve been an unholy terror against me and this studio for too long! I need them gone! For good!” He shouted, raising a hand to rub at his temple. “If they could somehow be forgotten and disappear that would be perfect, but I’ll settle for them just disappearing.” At this point Plotz didn’t care how it was done. Capture them in a burlap sack, tie it at the top, and throw them in a pond for all he cared. The day the Warners were gone would be the day things started looking up for Plotz. 

“Gone and forgotten?” The man mused, stroking his chin. “That would cost extra, but it _is_ doable.” 

“How?” Plotz sounded all-too-eager at that, practically leaping out of his chair. 

The man gave a thin smile in return, “Would you rather my time and effort be put to use getting rid of your little pest problem, or spent talking to you about the intricacies of my plan? Besides, there are some things best left unknown, it gives you plausible deniability, correct?” 

Plotz grimaced for only a second before giving a slow nod. He _had_ thought that he didn’t care how it happened, and the less he knew of the semantics, the more deniability he had if things went awry. 

“Now,” The next words were uttered as if it physically pained Plotz. “lets talk about your fee...”


	2. Comedy of Errors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakko makes a friend, Plotz and his morally questionable business partner put their plan in motion, and things begin to change in the middle of the night.

Wakko wasn't going to question just _how_ a live frog could have made its way onto the Warner Brothers studio lot in Burbank, California...but that didn't mean the middle sibling was going to leave said frog alone either. In fact, it gave the Warner toon some excitement as he avoided doing anything that could be considered 'productive' by even the most lenient parameters. He laid down on the ground, tongue lolling out of his mouth almost low enough to touch the asphalt beneath him. For now, he was content to forego spending time with his siblings and do some ‘nature watching’ instead, surely this counted as such. The frog was a part of nature, after all, even if it currently wasn’t _in nature_. 

The frog in question seemed oblivious, or just didn't care, as it sat mere inches in front of Wakko. In fact, it didn’t seem nonplussed by its surroundings either, blinking as it regarded the surrounding area with a gaze that could only be considered ‘blank’, the poster child for ‘lights on, but no one home’. The pouch on its face expanded and shrank as it let out a few loud _ribbits_. Wakko replicated the noise a few times himself, before letting out a soft laugh. This was better than attempting to get through some boring nature documentary, between the monotonous tone of the narrator and Yakko trying to crack jokes about the show at any and every opportunity, it was hard to stay awake or follow along, _this_ was much more fun. 

Hell, as much as Wakko could be considered 'restless' or even 'hyperactive', sometimes it was nice to enioy the little things. This time, one of those ‘little things’ just so happened to be spending time with a frog. 

Though it seemed the frog in question had other ideas in mind. With a prolonged _ribbit_ , it gave a small hop, then two, then three, before pausing for a moment as if waiting for Wakko to get up, to keep pace before it continued on. Of course, Wakko scrambled to his feet with an exclamation of: “Wait up!” as if the frog could understand English. 

The frog did stop, though as soon as it did Wakko wished he hadn’t said anything at all. The frog turned at a slow pace to face Wakko, clueless to the fact it had stopped right in the middle of one of the lanes used by various carts to get crews and supplies across the sprawling lots and studios that made up the entirety of the Warner Brothers lot. 

It didn’t help that a cart was heading down the lane either, carrying enough supplies that stopping on a dime would be impossible for it. While the driver didn’t see the frog, he did see a blur of blue and red dive in front of his cart as Wakko dove to save the frog. The driver swerved to keep from hitting what he assumed to be a careless child—a guess that wasn’t far from the truth—and instead ran the cart into the side of a small studio. 

Supplies rained down from the back and sides of the cart where they hadn’t been secured, rolling onto the street and sidewalks. The vertifiable mess Wakko had created by accident had been worth it to the middle brother as he held the frog—safe and sound—in his hands. Wakko glanced back at the driver of the cart to make sure he was okay, watching as he scrambled out of the driver’s seat to try and gather what had fallen off the cart, before he hurried off towards the water tower. If no one could identify him as having been there, he couldn’t get blamed for what had happened, right? 

Wakko doffed his cap just long enough to place the frog on top of his head before he pulled his red cap back on, then went up the ladder at lightning speed. The door to the water tower slammed shut behind him and it was only then that Wakko let out a sigh of relief. 

Yakko quirked a brow from where he sat, meddling with a few sheets of paper with some music notes and lyrics scribbled down. Whatever it was Yakko was currently working on, Wakko was certain it was going to be at least sixty percent educational. 

“Making a getaway, Baby Bro?” Yakko questioned, though there was more amusement in his tone than concern. Wakko could handle himself, Yakko never doubted that for a moment. His siblings, and Yakko would gladly admit he was proud of this fact, were quite the unholy terrors if they needed to be. Yakko had his words, Wakko had his more physical retorts, and Dot could talk anyone into doing anything—and she was handy with her beloved mace. 

Wakko opened his mouth to respond, but the only sound that came out was a _ribbit_. Yakko set his pen down, turning to face his brother fully. “Now, last time I checked we may have been compared to dogs and cats, even some sort of ‘fuzzy bugs’, but _frog_ is a new one.” 

There was no point trying to play it off. Wakko knew that Yakko knew. There wasn‘t a snowball’s chance in Hades that he’d be able to pull the wool over his older brother’s eyes. Instead, the middle brother lifted his hat just enough to retrieve the frog and Yakko’s amusement only grew at the situation at hand. 

“Can we keep it?” He asked, holding out the frog so Yakko could see just how cute the frog was up close. 

Yakko quirked a brow. This wasn’t the first time either of siblings had come to him with requests of _Can we keep him/her/it?_ and he knew this certainly wouldn’t be the last. “I don’t know, Wakko...” He began, keeping his voice lively and dramatic. “Taking care of pets is expensive and a lot of work.” 

“Dot is both of those things and she gets to stay!” Wakko argued, clutching the frog close to his chest as if to keep it safe from Yakko’s possible disapproval to keeping it. 

“I’m not a pet and I’m definitely not a frog!” Dot pulled a mallet from her hammerspace as Wakko blinked, gaze snapping to the spot his sister stood, only a few feet away. Where had she come from? He hadn’t even seen her! Then again, he’d been more focused on getting away from the scene of the crime and then on getting Yakko to agree to a pet frog instead of ‘where is Dot in case I say something that could get make her mad enough to kill me’. Which...he still felt his priorities were straight. 

“You’re right! Frogs are actually cute!” Wakko retorted. Wrong move. It was only by the virtue of Yakko intervening that Wakko hadn’t been smashed into a pancake by his sister. 

“Now sibs,” Yakko began, not even trying to hide his laughter as he held out his hand towards Dot. She glared at Wakko for a few seconds before she began to sulk and handed her weapon over to Yakko. The eldest sibling took the mallet and threw it behind him, where it crashed into...something. “We don’t want to accidentally hurt the frog.” 

“I wouldn’t have!” Dot argued, “It’s only Wakko I want to hit!” 

“I was only telling the truth!” Wakko held the frog up as if to prove his point. “Look at how cute it is!” 

Dot only frowned, and the regret she felt over willingly handing over her mallet Yakko intensified tenfold. “You think _that frog_ is cuter than me?” 

Wakko hesitated as he saw an opportunity. If he could get Dot on his side, there was no way Yakko would be able to say no to the both of them. The gears in his mind turned as he recalled her biggest weakness: Compliments. “Cute, yes. Buuuut not as cute as my baby sister.” 

Dot narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of why Wakko was giving her such a high compliment, and so suddenly at that, but the flattery won out over her concern. She even gave a begrudging shrug, “It is kind of cute...I wouldn’t mind having a frog as a pet either. We could put little bows on it.” 

Wakko turned back to Yakko, “Can we keep it? Please please pleeeeaaase?” 

Yakko rolled his eyes, though the shake of his head that followed was good natured. “I suppose. But! You have to take care of it!” 

“I will!” Wakko swore, his tone ultra-serious as he nodded at his brother. 

“I’m sure you will.” Yakko murmured sarcastically, but Wakko didn’t hear, already scrambling off to another side of the tower where he could set his frog down and get to creating a home for it in peace. 

* * *

The plan was simple, or at least, Plotz's involvement in the plan was: by the time Plotz woke up tomorrow morning the Warners would be gone, or at the very least forgotten entirely. Forgotten, not just by himself, but by everyone! From Ralph to Scratchansniff to those who'd only had to deal with them in passing, those lucky bastards. 

Soon he wouldn't have to grin and bear the fact that he could do nothing truly lasting against them out of fear of missing out on an opportunity to rent them to another studio, or for someone to pull the ever-loathed 'they're just children' card on him. The thought alone made Plotz grin from ear-to-ear, and very nearly made him break out into song and dance; instead of creating such a display he cleared his throat and straightened his tie instead, he was a professional, after all. No way in Hell was he going to behave so immaturely in front of the hired help, no matter how questionable the man looked or acted. 

Speaking of, the man had only continued to evade Plotz's questions regarding 'how' he would be able to achieve such an impressive feat with a dismissive wave of his hand that would have made Plotz start fuming and yelling if it had been done by anyone else, even now he was close to the end of his wits. 

Patience. He had to have _patience_. All good things came to those who waited and, with the Warners, he'd waited much longer than he should have ever had to. As long as his demand was fulfilled, he would be content—though it would be a lie if he said he wasn't already mulling over just how to sue this man out of house and home if he didn't fulfill his end of the bargain. Either way, Plotz would gain something from this ill-advised venture. 

For the first time in _years_ , Plotz was excited to see what the next day would bring, or hopefully in this case, would no longer bring. 

Though the logical part of Plotz knew he would be included in ‘forgetting the Warners’, a part of him wondered what he would do first. What sort of celebration would befit such a momentous occasion? If drinking on the job wasn’t so frowned upon, he might have been willing to pop open a bottle of champagne! Or he could even get himself some sort of fancy cake sent straight to his office! The Warners wouldn’t be there to pop out of it, or destroy it or do whatever came to the minds of those little hellions. 

The man across from him waved a hand in front of his face, snapping Plotz back to the present, to reality. “You still haven’t agreed to my fee.” He reminded Plotz. 

“I told you!” Plotz began, furious that the man had interrupted his daydreaming, “You’ll get half now and half after I know the job is done! I am not willing to be scammed!” 

The man only sighed as if he were being put upon. “I will remember this as I complete the ritual.” He warned, though Plotz waved a hand as if waving away his cares regarding the ‘ritual’. 

What a quack! A ritual? What was he pretending to be? Some weird cult member? Some weirdo that believed himself to be a wizard? Ha! Plotz managed to catch himself before he laughed out loud at that last thought. 

A knock on the door interrupted any further chance of discussion as Plotz secretary stepped in, looking apologetic. 

“Mr. Plotz,” She began, though she paused as her gaze darted to Plotz’s business partner. 

“Go ahead, what is it?” He demanded. 

“We have a report of an accident on the studio lot. One of the carts carrying supplies managed to crash and some of the supplies it was carrying were damaged.” 

Plotz could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing, rage coloring his cheeks tomato red. “It was those damned Warners, wasn’t it?!” Why did he even ask? It had to be their fault! It was always their fault! Everything bad that ever happened to him was because of them! 

“Well...no one reported seeing them, any of them, at the scene.” She replied. “The good news is no one was injured—” 

“I don’t care if no one saw them! I know they did it!” Plotz shouted, jumping up as he shook a fist in the air. The secretary and his business partner exchanged a look, neither were surprised by such enraged exclamations, but it was quite childish. 

Plotz was going to make those Warners pay. He was going to make the world forget them, forget they ever existed, and he was finally going to be the one laughing at them. 

* * *

As soon as the clock struck midnight in Burbank, it set off a chain reaction. 

The most immediate and obvious being that the middle bunk on the Warners tri-layer bunk bed disappeared as if it had never been there at all. Instead, the bed itself reverted to a normal bunk bed; the normal occupant of the middle bunk found herself without a bunk by way of freefalling the foot or so that had originally been the distance between her bed and the bed underneath hers, and landing atop her eldest brother. 

Yakko let out startled yelp, scrambling to both turn on a light to allow him see who or what had landed on him so unceremoniously, and get whoever or whatever it was _off of him_. 

Wakko, for his part, merely rolled over to where he could peer over the edge of his bed down at his older brother with bleary eyes. It was too early for Yakko, or anyone for that matter, to be this loud. “What’s wrong?” Wakko questioned, voice thick with sleep. 

Yakko managed to get a light on at the same time he shoved off the offending item or person. 

The eldest sibling stared down at the individual on the floor, while the individual glared up at him. 

“Who are you?” 

“What was that for?!” Both Yakko and Dot spoke at the exact same time. 

They both froze. For once, Yakko was at a loss for words and Dot was trying to process just what Yakko meant by such a stupid question. 

“Are you still trying to wake up?” Dot demanded, crossing her arms with a huff. “Or is your attempt at humor just that bad this early in the morning?” 

Yakko glanced up at Wakko when he heard his brother moving around to where he could climb down the ladder. The younger brother ignored the way Yakko gave a slight shake of his head in an attempt to keep Wakko away from this intruder, trying to keep Wakko safe. 

Wakko’s feet thumped against the floor as he hopped down from the middle rung and looked Dot over as if he were dealing with a stranger, any sign of fatigue had disappeared as soon as he’d realized that he and Yakko weren’t alone. It only served to incense Dot, who jumped up to her feet, placing her hands on her hips. 

“This isn’t funny.” She informed them, anger radiated from her. 

“We’re not laughing.” Yakko retorted, his tone serious as he got out of his bed, moving to stand in front of Wakko. 

Why was Yakko standing in front of Wakko like Dot, their own _baby sister_ was a threat? 

“Who are you?” Wakko questioned. 

Dot looked to Wakko as if he were being ridiculous—and he was! “You can’t seriously be so tired or half-asleep that you’ve forgotten who I am!” She spoke in an exasperated tone after a beat. “I’m your _sister_!” 

Yakko’s fur bristled at Dot’s yelling, he pushed Wakko behind him as if to shield Wakko from Dot, of all people! 

“Nice try, whoever you are, but we don’t have a sister.” Yakko spoke this time, eager to draw the attention from his brother to himself. 

Dot's brows furrowed. This wasn't the type of humor the trio used regarding one another. This hurt. This seemed like it was more from a place of bewilderment or even confusion than comedy. While the Warner siblings sometimes didn't get along—who in the world could get along with their siblings one hundred percent of the time—they never stooped to antics such as these. 

"What are you talking about?" She demanded as she crossed her arms, squaring her shoulders and already getting in a huff. Such displays were more for the drama when used against her brothers than out of pure irritation, but now? It was definitely treading that narrow line. 

"We don't have a sister." Wakko responded, looking confused as he moved away from Yakko’s attempt to shield and protect him. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth as he spoke, brows furrowed as if he were trying to figure out just what she was playing at. She wasn't playing at anything! 

On the other hand, Yakko seemed bored by the conversation, idly buffing his gloved hand across his chest as if he were wiping off his nails, before examining the back of said hand. "We've _never_ had a sister. What sort of sense would that make? We were named after the Studio, after all." As much as he gave off an aura of boredom, it wasn’t lost on either Wakko or Dot the way Yakko was keeping a close, scrutinizing eye on Dot. He perceived her as a threat to his sibling. But...she was also his sibling as well... 

Yakko and Wakko spoke in unison, saying the same phrase that Dot was absolutely certain would be ingrained in her brain until the end of time: "We're the Warner brothers." 

"And the Warner sister." Dot added without hesitation, without even having to think about it, in fact, it slipped off the tongue before she could catch herself; at this point it was practically a Pavlovian response. 

The two Warner brothers stared at her like she'd grown a second head for a solid six seconds before the brothers exchanged a look, remaining silent, but nothing _needed_ to be said aloud. It would be a lie to say it didn't sting; that was the look the siblings often exchanged as a trio while dealing with a particularly troublesome and annoying individual. To have the full power—well, two-thirds the power—bearing down on her...to say it was alienating didn't even come close to the true magnitude of it. No wonder adults seemed to hate it so much, as it was making her insides churn and it felt like the inside of her chest was squeezing hard enough to be painful. 

Dot was two seconds from pulling a mace out of her hammerspace and smashing both of her brothers with it until they were left seeing little stars and planets circling their heads. This joke wasn't funny. What tiny chance it had of being humorous had shriveled and died long ago. Yakko and Wakko needed to stop while they were ahead—and while they still had their heads before she wrung their necks so tightly they popped right off! 

Though, as soon as such a cathartic thought went through her mind, a darker one followed suit, snuffing out her rage in an instant: What if it wasn't a joke? 

She hoped it was a joke. She wouldn't know how to handle all of this if it somehow wasn't. Instead of a calm, logical response, she was struck by the strong impulse to grab her older brothers by the shoulders and shake them until they gave up the joke in bouts of laughter and apologies. It was the action she wanted to take, and yet, it was the genuine bewilderment and something akin to distrust in their expressions, in their body language that made her pause. 

She wanted to shout at them, but what would she say? 

Dot paused when she noticed something she hadn’t before: Yakko’s claws were out. Hidden, for the most part, by his ever-present gloves she was able to just make out the tips of his claws from the way the gloves tented at the top when they didn’t normally. Yakko would never go so far for a stupid joke between siblings, wouldn’t risk ruining his gloves either. Yakko—and the other Warners for that matter—only used their claws when they felt extremely threatened. 

Did they really forget her? Or was this some sort of harsh way to get her out of the picture because they were so sick of dealing with her? Dot couldn’t be sure which. 

"Yeah yeah, don't risk disrupting the careful layering of the all that bologna in your pants tripping over yourself to protect your _only_ sib." Dot turned on her heel, her back facing them. If she didn't leave now she'd only end up crying in front of them and that was a level of vulnerability she was not willing to show. Maybe if her brothers weren't acting like complete asses, and even then it was a stretch. Rage was a better look than tears. She clenched her fists for a moment before giving a dramatic wave of her hand as she stalked towards the door of the water tower. 

She was Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Third. She was Dot Warner. She was a fighter! 

She just...she'd never had to fight alone. 

* * *

As soon as Plotz woke up in the morning he knew his business partner had failed. He could still remember the Warner brothers. Yakko and Wakko. No more siblings and no less. It set him off in a rage and it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet, at least the rage meant there was no need for coffee today, and he was certain that his doctor would be pleased with that. For now, though, he had bigger fish to fry than truly caring what his doctor thought or felt. He had a phone call to a very specific business partner of his to make...and then calls to his lawyers once he lured his business partner down to the studio lot. 

Plotz raced through his morning routine, eager to get on with the day, get on with the misery he would cause his partner, and the money he would make due to his partner’s fraudulent claims. Such thoughts brought enough glee to put a pep in his step and outweigh the anger he’d felt upon waking. 

For the first time in years Plotz greeted his secretary by name, even offering her a smile and a small wave. He either didn’t see or didn’t care about the concerned look she gave him due to that small interaction. 

He hurried to his phone, punching in the number he’d dialed just the day prior, humming as he waited for his partner to pick up. Without even offering or waiting for a greeting Plotz simply stated: “We need to talk.” And hung up. 

Part of Plotz wanted to jump up on his desk and shout: "I knew you were a fraud! I'll have every cent you own and every cent you ever will!" Another part of Plotz wanted to enjoy making the man sweat, wanted to see just how much the man would bend over backward to save his own skin, to make up for his folly. 

It wasn’t a long wait, all things considered. Plotz had spent the time wondering just how much money the man had in his bank account and how easy it would be to gain every single penny in said bank account. Plotz’s secretary let him in, and Plotz was quick to offer him a chair and hurry his secretary out the door so the real business could begin. 

“You look pleased.” The man commented after he’d taken a seat, hands folded together as he regarded Plotz with an amused gleam in his eyes. 

“Do I?” Plotz questioned. It was hard to not look positively thrilled when he was thinking of all the money he was hoping to gain. “Are you sure you’ve done your job correctly? I still remember both of the Warner brothers.” 

The grin that Plotz was donning waned a few degrees when the man across from him didn't seem nervous at all—in fact, he seemed awfully pleased with himself. He practically radiated a smug aura that just served to further vex Plotz. Did this man not realize how massively he had screwed up? Did he have a single inkling in his head? A single damned clue?! 

“Aren’t you forgetting someone? Think long and hard about the Warner siblings.” He retorted, steepling his hands. He watched Plotz’s reactions closely, enjoying the befuddlement that replaced Plotz’s self-congratulatory grin. 

The executive furrowed his brows at that last statement. Why had he said ‘Warner siblings’ when it was so much easier to say ‘Warner brothers’? There were only two of them. Though, Plotz had to admit, there was the notion that something was _off_ overall, he had some niggling feeling at the back of his head, like he was forgetting something—though this time he was certain it was a _someone_. It was annoying, almost as annoying as the Warners he was trying to be rid of for good. The trouble was, the more he tried to recall what it was he'd forgotten, the less and less came to mind. It was like trying to grasp sand in his fist: the tighter he tried to grip it, the more slipped between his fingers. 

"And how do I know you aren't just saying that to try and trick me out of my hard-earned money?!" Plotz demanded, more than eager to begin his affronted tirade and not willing to try and confront that confusing feeling any longer. 

The man chuckled at Plotz's outburst, cupping his hands together. With a few words muttered under his breath, and a plume of smoke, he opened his hands to reveal an all-too-familiar yellow flower with five petals, attached to a scrunchie. 

Plotz froze. His face paled as he recalled just who it belonged to. The longer he stared, the more about that particular individual came back to him. His face shifted from pale to green as he was overcome with a sudden bout of nausea, his heartbeat pounded in his eardrums. 

Of course. How could he have forgotten? Dot Warner. The only Warner _sister_! What she lacked in height she sure made up for in annoyance factor with ease! Plotz smacked a hand to his sweaty forehead as if he couldn't believe every single memory regarding one of the Warners had disappeared in the first place. He eyed the man warily as he clung to his desk, the only way he would be able to keep standing; he was reticent to speak, though he only lasted a few moments before the question burning within got the best of him: "If you, supposedly, made me forget about the Warner sister, then how do I remember her now?" 

The man looked at Plotz as if regarding a simple creature, something so beneath him it was hardly worth his time or the effort it took to speak. Plotz began to sweat even more under the man's stare, tugging at his collar and looking anywhere other than at him, even as the other man spoke. 

"It's the one catch to the ritual." He spoke at a slow cadence, overenunciating as if talking to a young child instead of a grown man, "The individual is forgotten by friends, family, etcetera, but there is one item left behind. One item that can cause memories of that individual and their life to resurface if looked upon." 

A failsafe measure; a way to guarantee that, if the one seeking such extreme measures wanted to recant their desire, there was such a way to do so. And, he grinned at the thought, it didn't hurt to cause a little turmoil here and there. Paranoia regarding the fear someone else would find the item left behind and remember who it was who had disappeared--or a deep feeling of regret and remorse for making that person practically 'cease to exist' in numerous definitions of the word itself. It also never ceased to amuse him to watch them realize those around them would never remember who had disappeared, that the individual was practically a shell of what they used to be. No one else would remember the life of the individual cursed to be forgotten—no one but the person forgotten themself, and the individual who had sought to get them forgotten. Surely that would weigh on one's conscience—if the individual in question even had a conscience to begin with. 

Plotz was caught between calling the man a fraud and determination to yank that flower from his grasp and hiding it where no one could ever find it again. 

"And if I destroy it?" Plotz couldn’t stop staring holes into the flower. He needed it. He _had_ to have it in his possession so no one else could! Not even the very man who had done the job could truly be trusted with it. 

"The magic is undone. They'll be remembered by everyone who ever knew them." His gaze shifted from Plotz to the flower he held in his hands. Such an ugly, childish design. He was eager to get it out of his hands and wash the germs off. 

Magic?! Plotz was only distracted by that word for a second before he spoke up. "Give me that flower! Quick! Before anyone else sees it!" He emphatically threw out his hands, grasping at the flower that was not quite in his reach. 

The man sighed dramatically as if he were being asked to complete a tedious and utterly endless task, before holding it out to Plotz. The executive swiped the flower as soon as it was within his reach and shoved it into a desk drawer, the desk rattled from the strength which Plotz used to slam it shut. The first thing he was doing was getting a safe and locking the flower away where it would never see the light of day again. 

"Now," The man grinned, showing too many teeth. He looked more like a predator of sorts than a normal human being _who just happened to be able to use magic_. “If you pay the rest of the fee, one more sibling will be forgotten, and if you pay double the fee both of the remaining Warner siblings will be remembered no longer.” 

“Your fee for all three of them wasn’t that much before!” Plotz argued. 

“You have to pay extra because you doubted me. Now that you’ve seen what I can do, now that you know I can give you the peace and quiet you desire, aren’t you willing to pay a paltry fee?” 

Plotz grimaced, looking back down to the desk drawer where Dot’s flower resided. He would finally be free, wouldn’t he? Free to do as he pleased without having to wait for reports of the destruction they’d caused to reach his ears at any moment. Surely he’d make up the cost with ease with them gone. 

With a heavy sigh Plotz opened the drawer once more, pulling the checkbook that lay next to Dot’s flower out. “How much will this cost? And how soon can it be done and over with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plotz does realize that Dot is forgotten, but not completely gone, right? ;)  
> Thank you for reading this far! All kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


	3. Sister from another Mister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakko goes to find answers regarding the midnight intruder, Plotz is ready to pull out what little hair he has remaining.

Dot was so angry that she was shaking as she climbed down the ladder, it did nothing to help her grip on the metal rungs, and some part of her was thankful it was the middle of the night so no one could see the way her feet nearly missed a rung or two on the way down and how she just managed to keep herself from slipping. 

Her fur was still fluffed out as if to make herself appear bigger and more intimidating, her own claws were out, just beneath the surface of her gloves from the altercation she’d had with her brothers—primarily Yakko. Everything in her toon body was acting in a way to make her seem more of a threat, as if she'd ever be perceived as a true threat by her own brothers. 

Dot paused once her feet hit the ground, keeping a hand wrapped around the ladder in case her legs decided that to give out without warning, they felt more like tubes of jello than actual limbs at the moment. Adrenaline was a hell of a thing. Between the shaking and the urge to either run far, far away or go back and smash both of her brothers into pancakes with her mallet until they apologized to her, Dot couldn’t decide how to proceed with a clear mind. 

On that note: What the hell was she even supposed to do now? Her own brothers had been the ones to kick her out, throw her aside because...what? She was too aggressive? Too girly and cute? An outlier compared to the two of them that was no longer someone they could bring themselves to tolerate? 

Dot had felt like an outsider on occasion when compared to her brothers. Their names rhymed, they looked nearly identical once Wakko removed his hat, they reveled in being disgusting, annoying _boys_ , the list went on and on. For the most part, her concerns with being left out, with being forgotten had been assuaged without her brothers even having to do or say anything. They'd make some stupid joke with her or just pester her in a way that, while annoying, reminded her that she was still seen and that they did care about her. 

But now? 

What if this had been a long time coming and she had misread all the signs? 

It wasn't long after midnight now and Dot Warner was bewildered and angry and, most depressing of all, she was alone for the first time. She’d never been truly ‘alone’. The Warner siblings had been drawn together, jumped off of the paper together, been sealed away in the water tower for decades together, eventually freed and rented out to other studios together, the list was never ending. Anything the Warners did, they did together. 

As soon as the metal door to the water tower had been sealed and they’d initially been unable to escape, it’d become increasingly obvious that no one else gave a damn about the Warner siblings, so they only had each other to trust and rely on. 

And so she’d burnt any possible bridges with adults alongside her zany brothers. She’d never given a thought to the what-if's. _What if something went wrong? What if she and her brothers weren’t always so inseparable?_ And now she was paying for it.

* * *

Plotz knew that the next iteration of his 'partner's' magic was going to take a while. The man had explained, while his tone dripped with condescension, that he _"needed time to gather supplies and regain his energy"_. Whatever. What supplies were needed to make the entire globe forget someone existed entirely? Had to be practically nonexistent from the way he’d acted. So...the blood of a twenty-year-old who wasn’t broke or miserable? And other than mixing those supplies together, how much energy did it take to...what, wave his hands dramatically over a boiling cauldron as he recited some words in a long dead language? 

Plotz rolled his eyes as his fingers drummed atop his desk. This man was just wasting Plotz's time and patience. At that thought, the CEO's gaze flicked to the drawer where Dot's flower scrunchie remained locked up tight. Only Plotz himself and his business partner remembered who she truly was, could recall that she was a genuine Warner sibling, just as destructive and terrifying as her older brothers. Plotz had double-checked that this wasn’t some thorough trick, anyone he spoke to within the studio—and even outside of it—had no idea who or what the hell a ‘Dot Warner’ was. 

So, then again...his business partner _had_ solved one problem for the time being. One down, two more to go, and Plotz would be free from the most annoying children—no, most annoying _toons_ in the galaxy. 

He just had to suck it up for now and pray that the remaining Warner brothers, and it was so nice not to have to tack on 'and the Warner sister' anymore, didn't cause much damage as Plotz counted down the days, hours, and even seconds till they were finally out of his hair. Getting rid of them was expensive, hell, _expensive_ didn't even truly cover how much cash he had sunk into this current scheme of his! If he checked his bank account he was certain the only thing inside would have been a fluttering moth. 

He needed the Warners gone and he needed the studio to start churning out movies like there was no tomorrow. 

Was that too much to ask?

* * *

By the time Wakko finally rolled out of bed he looked about as exhausted as he felt. While Wakko usually seemed to give off an air of indifference or even cluelessness, it would be a lie to say what had happened last night hadn't affected him. His sleep after the incident had been in bits and pieces at best. 

He grabbed his cap from where it hung off the bed post, took two seconds to run a hand through his ruffled fur before donning it once more, then padded off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

All the while the gears in his mind were turning, churning rapidly as he tried to figure out what the hell had happened and make some sort of sense of it. 

She--and Wakko assumed the midnight intruder was a she based on the fact she'd claimed she was their sister--had, what, attacked Yakko in the middle of the night? Without actually doing any damage? Yakko had assured Wakko he wasn't hurt, even though he said she had pounced on him in an attempt to hurt him. But, she'd never gotten truly aggressive with them, she'd looked hurt and it had seemed genuine. 

Wakko remembered the fire in her eyes as she'd responded to his question of 

_"Who are you?"_

_“You can’t seriously be so tired or half-asleep that you’ve forgotten who I am! I'm your sister!”_

Wakko spit out the toothpaste before filling a cup with water, gargling, spitting, and then eating the cup without even a second of hesitation. 

A sister. 

Wakko couldn't begin to fathom what it would be like to have a sister. It had always been himself and Yakko, two brothers against the world--or, more accurately, against the studio. 

She _had_ looked just like them. White and black fur, gloved hands, the long ears. If the fur around her face hadn't been curled upward so much Wakko would have considered her identical to himself and Yakko. Just shorter. And angrier. 

Though Yakko had been _livid_ as well and it was a rarity for Yakko to get that angry. Angry enough to let his claws out and risk ripping his gloves. 

Wakko left the bathroom to hunt down some food, a small glass cup just wasn't filling in the slightest and Wakko needed something that would get his blood sugar up and keep it there for a while. 

He paused when he came into the kitchen, spotting Yakko sitting at the table, looking as if he hadn't slept for even a split-second since his rude awakening last night. Wakko wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case. His brother was a worrier by nature, even if he played it off most of the time with relative ease. 

Yakko glanced up from where he'd been staring a hole in his coffee, swift to school his expression into something less exhausted and more laidback. 

"We can't both be tired, one of us is going to have to have some pep in their step." Yakko kept his tone light, giving a dramatic wave of his hand. 

"You're the one with coffee." Wakko retorted. 

Yakko looked down to his cup as if he'd forgotten it was there, and with how he'd been acting before he had realized Wakko was there, it wouldn't have been a surprise if that was the case. Instead of responding, he took a drink and managed to look disgusted for only a split-second. 

"Who doesn't love ice cold coffee in the morning?" He mused aloud. 

Wakko didn't respond, instead digging through the cabinets until he found a box of cereal. The bowl, milk, and spoon were pulled out moments later and Wakko eyed the four items before not even bothering with making a bowl, and just eating all of the items whole in rapid succession. 

He let out a loud belch before giving a content hum. Another delicious breakfast. 

Yakko rolled his eyes, though there was no true irritation in the motion. His younger brother was nothing if not consistent in the way he ate nearly anything and everything. He did have a legitimate reason at least, a toon drawn to suffer from hypoglycemia if he didn't eat regularly? What the hell was wrong with the bozos that created the Warner brothers? 

_”And the Warner sister.”_

The thought rebounded across Yakko's skull, knocking out all other thoughts he’d possessed in the process, reminding him once again of last night. 

He'd spent every moment since midnight awake and on high alert. Who in their right mind would sneak into the water tower that himself and Wakko called home? Who in their right mind would think they could honestly trick Yakko and Wakko into believing they had a sister? And she didn't even go for some even slightly plausible “long lost sister" route, she'd acted offended at the fact they didn't know who she was. 

He had to respect the confidence, but it began and ended there. 

The respect died a more than deserved death as soon as she started directing her anger towards his younger brother. As she’d tried to fool Wakko into believing something so blatantly false. Not that Wakko had fallen for it for even a second. 

They didn’t have a sister. And that was more than fine with Yakko. Yakko didn’t need anyone else in his family to be content and while Yakko didn’t trust adults as a general rule, he could add last night’s intruder to the list even if she wasn’t an adult herself. 

It was himself and Wakko versus everyone else, and if he were a betting toon, Yakko would bet on the Warner brothers without hesitation every time. 

“...what if we did have a sister?” 

Wakko’s quiet comment made Yakko pause, face scrunching in bewilderment. “What?” 

Wakko hesitated for a moment before continuing, he couldn’t help but feel stupid for even bringing it up. He was probably wrong, or Yakko would have an answer to his question that was so obvious it would be ridiculous that Wakko hadn’t even thought of it. 

“What if the studio decided to add a sister?” It had happened before for toons. Families weren’t so straightforward like human families. Parents, siblings, etc could be added years, even decades after the original toons were drawn. Animators and writers had no such qualms about adding—or in rare cases subtracting—to toon families without so much as a question if it bothered the toons or even a warning. “And so she was just following how she was drawn?” 

Yakko, for once, was silent. He hadn’t thought of that. Then again, it was hard to think straight when one was woken from a dead sleep at midnight to someone he didn’t know literally landing on him. Older brother instincts had kicked in, he was a protector—though usually he liked to talk circles around those that bothered himself and Wakko instead of using claws or straightforward threats. 

Yakko ran a hand through the tuft of fur atop his head. “I need to talk to Plotz.” 

“I’ll go with.” 

“You just want to go with because his secretary gives you candy.” 

Wakko grinned and shrugged. “Maybe so.”

* * *

By the time Yakko and Wakko were on the elevator and Wakko was hitting the button to go to the top floor, Yakko was internally fuming. If this was the case than Yakko felt like a complete asshole. If this wasn’t the case, well then...what the fuck was going on exactly? 

Either they had a new sister—and that explained her appearance and demeanor—and Yakko had to apologize profusely to make up for the rudest greeting in history, or...Yakko still had to worry whether or not this random toon would try to sneak into the water tower again and possibly hurt Wakko. 

Yakko hesitated outside of Plotz’s office just long enough for Wakko to get his candy before he opened the door without knocking. 

“Did the studio decide to draw another Warner?” Yakko demanded as Plotz straightened up in his chair, hurriedly slamming a drawer in his desk shut and locking it. Yakko paid the action no real mind, it was likely that Plotz was trying to protect a script or his checkbook from the Warner brothers. 

“W-what are you talking about?!” Plotz’s voice rose up almost an octave as he spoke. 

Yakko glared at the CEO. All the usual charisma the eldest Warner possessed was out the window in this rage-filled visit. “Did you—or someone else—decide to add another Warner to the mix? A Warner _sister_ perhaps?” 

“Why would I do that—or, or have a studio artist do that?! You thr—two drive me insane enough as is! I don’t need another Warner running around and behaving like a hellion alongside you two!” Plotz retorted. 

Sweat began to bead along his forehead. Shit. Shit shit shit. Don’t tell him this was already the end of it. Don’t tell him it was already over so soon! He’d just eliminated Dot Warner from the equation! Or...at least eliminated her to a degree. The remaining Warner brothers had been quiet up until this point...most likely distracted with trying to figure out just who or what Dot Warner was. 

It was a mixed bag. It had kept Yakko and Wakko distracted, but what if they figured it out, or at least were willing to believe that they had a sister? If the Warner brothers hadn’t been watching him, he would have been biting his nails, overcome with nervous energy. For now, he shook his head and straightened his tie, trying his best to give off an air of annoyance with the Warner brothers, that part was easy, and a sense of bewilderment as to who or what this ‘midnight intruder’ could have been, not so easy when he knew the truth. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?” Plotz demanded, “Or that this isn’t some weird prank? I don’t have time for these silly games.” 

Wakko could hear Yakko grinding his teeth as he listened to Plotz’s ridiculous questions. When did Yakko Warner of all toons go to Plotz like this? With anger instead of his usual lackadaisical demeanor? It should have been obvious from the moment Yakko strode in that Yakko was being utterly serious—perhaps for the first time in his life, or at least, for the first time since they’d escaped from the water tower. 

Yakko shook his head. If he wasn’t so concerned for Wakko, the elder Warner would have been content to make Plotz miserable, to annoy him until he was as enraged as Yakko currently felt. But he had to put up with this meaningless line of questioning for his brother’s sake. It was worth it as long as Yakko could get Plotz to give him a solid answer. 

“It wasn’t a dream.” If anything, it would have been a nightmare. Things could have gone so much worse if the supposed sister had any real malicious intent. With the way Plotz was acting the likelihood of the toon being a late addition to the Warner family was becoming less and less, which only made Yakko’s anxiety and irritation regarding the situation rise more and more. 

He just wanted an answer, for fuck’s sake. Was that too much to ask? 

Plotz arched a brow at Yakko, likely towards the rage that Yakko wasn’t doing anything to hide. Yakko’s fists were clenched as he waited for Plotz to respond. 

Inwardly Plotz wanted nothing more to send them away, to avoid the problem until the two Warner brothers were no longer problems themselves. He couldn’t do that at the moment, not with Yakko so worked up. Ignoring them would only cause them to cause him problems on purpose, ramping up the damage more and more until he finally gave them an acceptable answer. 

Plotz steepled his fingers together, elbows resting on top of his desk as he looked at Yakko, expression utterly serious. “If anything, this raises concerns about rival studios.” 

“Why?” Wakko spoke up. 

Yakko’s frown only deepened, he had an idea of where this was going, but he was going to let Plotz do all the talking, he didn’t have it in him to make any lighthearted jokes or drive to steal the spotlight at the moment. 

Plotz spared a quick glance Wakko’s way before he let out a tired sigh, shifting his gaze to where he looked out the window, to the lot below. 

“They want what the Warner Brothers studio has,” He answered. “Success. And if they can glean some of that success by making...copycat Warners then they’ll do it without remorse or hesitation.” Plotz sounded remiss as he spoke, “Not fair to you, or this supposed ‘Warner sister’, but you know how it is in show business. Anything to get ahead. To make more money.” 

Yakko didn’t look convinced. “You act like you wouldn’t do the same to get ahead yourself, Plotzy.” 

Plotz let out an intelligible stammer, not having expected such a quick, and true, retort. “I like to make money, I admit, but I’m not the one drawing toons and claiming they are related to toons from another studio. That is...overstepping a bit too much for me, I’m afraid.” 

Yakko was silent. There was always the chance that taking such a gamble would end up in a lawsuit, or that the toon wouldn’t stay true to their original studio’s roots. 

And it was no secret that Plotz find the Warner brothers irksome on their best days. Why would he ask the animators to add another Warner to the mix? 

So that meant that Yakko was very nearly back to square one. A sister from another studio? Yakko’s first response was to keep her away from Wakko and himself, but...as Plotz had said: “It wasn’t fair to her” she would only be doing what she was drawn to do. 

“C’mon, Baby Bro, we have an estranged Warner sib—sister to find.” The word ‘sister’ should have felt off, shouldn’t it? Especially seeing as they had never had a sister—up until now, _possibly_ , but it felt normal. It felt **right**. Yakko shook off the thought as soon as it entered his mind. They weren’t even sure if Plotz’s idea was truly the case or not, no sense in getting used to claiming they had a sib sister only for them to find out that wasn’t the case. 

Wakko perked up at that, having long ago eaten the candy he’d been given and becoming bored in the back and forth between Yakko and Plotz. 

“She’s not getting my bunk.” He informed Yakko firmly, but otherwise was more open to the idea of a third sibling than his older brother. 

Plotz waited until the Warner brothers were out of his office before hurriedly dialing the number to the lot guard’s booth, not even bothering with greeting Ralph as soon as the guard picked up. 

“I need you to track down an unknown toon on the lot and get rid of her without drawing the attention of anyone—especially not the Warner brothers!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Ralph actually be able to do his job successfully when it's only one Warner sibling he's trying to catch? We just don't know.   
> 0/10 would not try to go against an emotionally hurt and angry Dot Warner. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. On the Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakko and Wakko aren't the only ones trying to find Dot.

To say Ralph was bewildered by the sudden, and very unexpected, call from Plotz would be an understatement. One moment the security guard had been enjoying a jelly-filled donut, listening to the play-by-play of a baseball game over the radio, and the next Plotz had been screeching in his ear. It was a miracle Plotz hadn't made Ralph deaf.  
_”I need you to track down an unknown toon on the lot and get rid of her without drawing the attention of anyone—especially not the Warner brothers!”_  
Ralph had responded as best he could to such a sudden demand, _”Uhhh...?”_  
Plotz’s rage had been palpable, even across the phone. Ralph could even hear the CEO slamming his fist down over and over again on his desk as he shouted, _”Get to work! She will be impossible to miss! Pink skirt, black and white fur!”_ Without even a word of warning, Plotz had slammed the phone down, hanging up on the befuddled security guard.  
Ralph tipped his hat back enough to scratch at his bald head and shifted his legs from where they’d been propped up on his desk to rest on the ground. “Pink skirt. Black and white fur. Pink skirt. Black and white fur.” He murmured to himself, committing the vague description to memory. Ralph shot a mournful glance to his radio. If Ralph were a lesser man, he would have ignored Plotz’s call, the short man seldom left his office, so how would he know if Ralph had done his job or not? But no, Ralph had applied for the job because he intended to do it, he was an honest man like that. He wasn’t the _smartest_ per se, but he was hardworking and honest.  
The guard stood up, taking a moment to crack his back, then reached for the net he had tucked away in the corner of the small building that was allotted to the Warner Brother’s guard—to him, for all intents and purposes.  
It was almost funny, Ralph had never been asked to chase after a toon other than the Warner brothers. The net he was reaching for hadn’t been used on anyone other than Yakko and Wakko; though, he supposed, it didn’t hurt to use it on a non-Warner as well.  
For a moment Ralph debated if he could somehow attach the radio to his uniform—or even tie it to his trusty net—and listen to the game as he did a cursory patrol around the Warner Brother lot. Though...that might give his location away, and if this toon was _anything_ like the Warner brothers then there would be a high chance his poor, innocent radio would get destroyed while he tried to catch her. Maybe he could just get the recap from his wife, another avid baseball fan.  
With a shrug, Ralph decided not to carry his radio with him; he reached out to turn it off instead.  
Why did the world seem to conspire against Ralph? When was the last time he'd been able to listen to a game in its entirety without Plotz calling, sounding like he was about to explode?

* * *

Wakko watched Yakko jab the button to the bottom floor with more force than necessary. The eldest sibling crossed his arms and leaned against the railing on the wall of the elevator. Yakko's brow was furrowed and he glared daggers into the immaculate floor.  
Wakko couldn't recall the last time he'd seen his older brother so upset and angry. Well, perhaps after they realized they'd been locked in the water tower, but that had been _decades_ ago. The two of them claimed all of that was ‘water under the bridge', even though it wasn't, but who in the studio actually gave a damn about what had been done to them? Better to grin and pretend it hadn't ~~scarred them for life~~ upset them.  
Yakko felt Wakko's eyes on him and forced himself to draw in a deep, **calming** breath. He straightened his shoulders and schooled a more neutral expression on his face, before he looked down at his younger brother.  
“So whaddaya think about all of this?” Yakko asked, attempting to sound unperturbed by the whole situation at hand. He needed to keep it together, needed to appear strong and in control, at least in front of Wakko.  
Wakko gave a thoughtful hum, for once his tongue wasn't lolling out of his mouth, perhaps reflecting how serious the situation was, even to him.  
What _did_ Wakko think? It had been a very dramatic morning, that was certain. The younger brother wasn’t sure what was truly going on. Did they have a sister tacked on like a second, cash-grabbing, thought or not? He wasn't sure if he even _wanted_ a sister. Up until now things were either his or Yakko's and Wakko never had to worry if Yakko would put some other toon or person before his younger brother. With a possible sister in the mix? Wakko was left feeling uncertain.  
How would she even fit into their dynamic? Yakko yakked, he had wit, he outsmarted his enemies with words. Wakko had more physical, and destructive, humor. He was the quiet one. What room was there for a third supposed Warner?  
But…there was a niggling feeling in the back of Wakko's mind. What if the roles were reversed and he was drawn late to the party? He'd want, at the very least, a _chance_ to fit in. It was hard to be good right out the gate when he was ~~afraid~~ worried that Yakko would forget all about him if they added another sibling to the mix.  
Though, that was if this random toon _was_ technically their sister from another studio, with said studio using the Warner brothers fame—both good and ill—to their advantage.  
“It wouldn't hurt to find out for sure. If she is our sister, then maybe we'll get to see Plotz cry, if she's not…well we'll see, I guess.” Wakko responded after a lengthy pause, shrugging while he spoke. “Not like we had anything else planned today.”  
Yakko could appreciate the simplicity in Wakko's response. At the very least it bolstered Yakko's resolve to _attempt_ to get to the bottom of this. Whether or not he succeeded…well, that was another story.  
And hey, who in their right mind would turn down the opportunity to maybe see Plotz _cry_ because he had to deal with a **third** Warner sibling?  
There was a soft _ding_ as elevator reached the bottom floor, the shiny silver doors opened at a glacial pace, and both brothers stepped out.  
It was now that Yakko was left wondering where to start on their hunt for the third, supposed, Warner sibling as Wakko looked up at his older brother, expectant on him to lead.

* * *

Dot hadn't had much luck in finding an acceptable—and hopefully very temporary—replacement for the water tower. There was nothing _like_ the water tower, after all. It had taken years and years of decorating and Yakko stating, _”We'll turn this into a home. Nobody really likes it, just like nobody really likes us.”_ With that mindset, they'd shifted their view of the gaudy Warner Brothers tower from something akin to a prison, to a _home_. Even now she longed to just climb back up the ladder and throw herself into bed.  
Though maybe, she'd take some time to find her flower scrunchie first, she had to admit she felt…incomplete without it. It was just a part of who she was, her pink skirt and yellow flower were part of her everyday ensemble.  
Dot had spent the early morning hours in one of the numerous sets on the lot; she'd tucked away in a director’s office, reclining in a plush chair the director had deemed he needed and deserved. As comfy as it was, it wasn’t her _bunk_ and it was unsettling to not hear Wakko barking and Yakko muttering to himself as they slept.  
It wasn't like she was going to get any sleep in the eerie silence, and it didn't help that her mind was churning and she couldn't get it to quiet down in the slightest.  
All the what-if's wouldn't leave her alone. What-if this wasn't temporary? What-if she had to find a way to carve out her own path, her own life _somehow_? She'd always had Yakko—and even Wakko—to depend on without fail, until now.  
The dark studio, at the very least, gave her a space to try and sort through her jumbled thoughts—well, up until the director whose office she'd set up camp in came in at five in the morning to get work done. What kind of director, in their right mind, worked that early?! She'd scampered off before he'd spotted her—his voice was so loud she'd heard him from down the hallway with ease. She had already managed to anger her brothers, for reasons still beyond her, she was not in the mood to anger anyone else at the moment. It was just no fun to anger adults alone.  
The what-if's continued to haunt her as she idly wandered around the lot, scoping out another place to rest and lay low until this whole ridiculous matter was done and over with.  
Though…what if this wasn't some weird joke or their way of kicking her out because they were annoyed with her? What if they really didn’t know, or remember, who she was? And how in the hell would that have happened? When they'd gone to bed, everything had been fine.  
Dot stopped walking as she recalled that night, standing just outside of one of the studio lots. 

_Wakko placed his new pet frog atop his red cap before he climbed up the ladder to the top bunk. Once he was sitting on his bunk, he was gentle as he set his pet on the right side of his pillow.  
Yakko watched his younger brother, having stopped putting his book up to do so, caught between amusement, bewilderment, and concern. “Didn’t you build him a tank?” The eldest sibling questioned.  
Wakko had spent the better part of three hours in one corner of the water tower, his brow furrowed in concentration as he hammered away at pieces of wood, soldered metal, and cut plexiglass; the middle sibling either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he was getting wood splinters on his tongue, which was sticking out of his mouth, as per the norm.  
“That's for when I can’t take him with me.” Wakko responded, “Sir Croaks-a-lot deserves a comfy bed.”  
“Maybe Sir Croaks-a-lot should get your bed and you sleep in the tank.” Dot suggested, taking the time to put her fur in rollers.  
Wakko glared at her from his perch on the top bunk. Dot glanced at him in the mirror, and with a shameless grin she said: “What? It's closer to the fridge.”  
Wakko seemed to consider it for a moment at that, before shaking his head.  
Dot and Yakko exchanged a look that radiated both amusement and ‘what can you do?’. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Wakko is an agent of chaos and unpredictability.  
The Warner siblings wouldn't have that last part any other way.  
Dot took one last look in the mirror, pleased with her handiwork with her fur, before she turned to Yakko, holding her arms up and out towards him with an all-too-innocent smile.  
Yakko wasn’t fooled. He quirked a brow at his younger sister and rested a hand on his hip. “Yessss, Sister-of-mine…?” He questioned, playing the fool.  
Dot rolled her eyes. They both knew what she wanted and they both knew Yakko was going to be insufferable about it. It was just how they operated. “Will you pick me up and carry me to bed?” She asked, voice sugar sweet.  
“I don't know…” Yakko trailed off, scuffing his foot against the ground.  
“Please? Pretty pleeease with a cherry on top?” Dot gave her best puppy-dog eyes, tilting her head just so. She was the epitome of cute and she knew it.  
Yakko snorted, heaving an exaggerated sigh as he swept Dot up in his arms. He was a huge sucker and he knew it. Dot laughed in delight at her success, not that she'd doubted Yakko wouldn’t give in for a second, and pressed her cheek to Yakko's.  
“Have I ever told you that you are one of the best big brothers ever? Easily top two.” Dot asked.  
Wakko paused from where he'd been adjusting the covers, “Same for me!”  
The eldest sibling was careful as he set Dot on the middle bunk. Yakko made sure to avoid disrupting Dot's rollers as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head; Wakko leaned off of the top bunk so Yakko could do the same, though this one was pressed to the top of Wakko's ever-present red cap.  
Yakko moved to climb into his own bunk, only for Wakko to call out: “Wait!”  
Yakko looked up at his younger brother, bewildered until Wakko held out his pet frog. “I am not kissing a frog.” He informed Wakko.  
“Why not? Worried it'll turn into a prince?” Dot snarked from her spot under the covers.  
“But then he'll feel left out.” Wakko argued, giving his own version of puppy-dog eyes.  
Jeez. Yakko was the biggest softie in the world, wasn't he? It wasn't fair how it seemed physically impossible for him to say _no_ to his siblings. Yakko heaved another dramatic sigh, before pressing a kiss to the top of Sir Croaks-a-lot's head.  
“Eugh.” Yakko grimaced, but the deed was done. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand before asking, “Happy now, Baby Bro?”  
Wakko nodded with a great deal of enthusiasm, setting the frog back on the right side of the pillow. “Good night, Big Brother. Good night, Baby Sister.”  
“Good night, Big Brothers.” Dot fluffed her pillow up before settling down once more.  
Maybe the pet frog wasn't so bad, at least it had led to that amusing situation. Though, it would have been funnier if Yakko's face had turned green, but hey, she couldn't always have it all.  
“Night, Sibs.” Yakko finally climbed into his own bunk on the bottom. The eldest sibling folded his arms under his head, letting out a slow breath. It had been a long day—though, what day wasn't a long day when one was the eldest sibling and makeshift parental figure at the same time? At least his siblings were good kids, he could never understand why adults seemed so annoyed by them. The eldest sibling waited until he knew both siblings were asleep before even trying to rest himself, he offered one last glance to the clock on the wall, illuminated by a nightlight shaped like a hotdog that Wakko had found and refused to get rid of: **11:00pm**. _  
Dot was once again struck with anger and confusion. The night had ended in such a _normal_ way. It hadn't felt like anything was off; her brothers had cracked jokes with her as they normally did. Yakko had even caved to her cute look as normal, so what had changed in, what, the span of an hour? Dot clenched and unclenched her fists over and over, needing to do something, _anything_ that would relieve the ~~hurt~~ frustration coursing through her veins.  
_Do toons even have veins?_ The thought was so out of place, so random, that Dot would have found it amusing in any other situation. At least it had offered a second of distraction from her current situation. She was sure she could have asked Yakko and he would have known, Yakko knew everything. Well, not **everything** but it felt like he did.  
As mad as she was, Dot missed her brothers. Her chest throbbed uncomfortably, and yet felt like it had a massive, gaping hole in it at the same time. How that was possible was anyone’s guess. Dot just wanted to be back at the water tower, listening to Yakko's newest attempt at an educational song, and watching Wakko eat something he really shouldn’t.  
She would even tolerate one of Wakko's belch operas without complaint if it meant things would return to normal.  
It wasn't until Dot felt something wet land atop her foot that she realized she was crying. The tears had trailed down her chin, and with how her head was tilted downward, the tears dropped right onto her feet. The youngest Warner sibling—and could she even call herself a Warner sibling anymore—scrubbed at her face rough and rapidly enough to disrupt her fur and even leave the skin underneath feeling raw. Crying wasn't befitting of someone as cute as her.  
Maybe if she repeated that enough it would stop the tears.  
In the midst of her silent wallowing she didn't hear the telltale footfalls of the lot’s security guard.  
“Hey you!” Ralph’s exclamation made Dot jump a solid foot in the air, startled. He didn't seem to realize he'd had the element of surprise on his side and ruined his advantage with one fell swoop.  
The youngest Warner turned on her heel to face the security guard, hands on her hips.  
“That’s no way to call out to a lady!” Dot retorted, all her ire was now directed towards Ralph. Dot was inwardly thankful she'd managed to hide any signs of her embarrassing emotional outburst before Ralph had almost given her a heart attack.  
Anger felt better than sadness, but there was no way she was going to thank the guard for giving her an outlet.  
Ralph looked bewildered at her exclamation. He hadn't expected such anger in her voice and rage in her expression, one could practically see flames where Dot's eyes were.  
“I, duhhhh, I'm sorry?” It came out more a question than a statement. She'd thrown him off his game, and Ralph just stood there, holding his net in both hands like it would somehow shield him from the youngest Warner sibling’s wrath.  
“You should be!” Dot stamped a foot. She wasn't mad at Ralph, not really, but who else could she yell at? Not her brothers, not after Yakko had unsheathed his claws because she'd been ‘rude’ to Wakko. Who else was around? Plotz? Not worth it. He was annoying and greedy, but ultimately harmless as everything he threatened against the Warners failed to follow through.  
Wait.  
_Plotz._ Surely the CEO could straighten this out, or would at least have some idea of what the hell was going on.  
“I'd love to stay and chat, Ralph, but I need to speak to Plotz.” Dot made to run past Ralph, only to skid to a stop when Ralph stepped into her path.  
“You can't be doing, uh, that.” Dot's statement had jogged Ralph's memory, his purpose for wandering the lot—for an hour straight now—bounced around his skull, before lodging itself firmly in the forefront of his mind.  
“And why not?” Dot demanded, looking livid as she crossed her arms and tapped a foot against the concrete. To say Dot was impatient would have been the understatement of the century.  
“Pink skirt, black and white fur…” Ralph muttered to himself. That was the description Plotz had given him. This _had_ to be the toon that Ralph was supposed to catch. Was it just him, or did she look a lot like the Warner brothers Yakko and Wakko? And, to that extent, she obviously wasn't either of them dressed up and trying to prank him; she was shorter than even Wakko and her voice was much higher than the younger Warner brother—and it lacked that accent that Ralph found odd.  
“What?” Dot’s brow furrowed, a sense of foreboding shot down her spine.  
The weird almost ‘sixth sense' that rang alarm bells in her mind was proven correct as Ralph lifted the net high over his head, “Dah…sorry, but Mr. Plotz said that you hads to be caught, and, uh, what he says goes.”  
Dot jumped back just as Ralph swung the net down with all his might, as if strength alone would ensure a swift, and effortless, capture.  
Dot hesitated for just a moment before sprinting off in the opposite direction of Ralph and of Plotz's office. She could go back to interrogate the CEO later, once she'd lost Ralph or he gave up. Ralph was a hard worker, but he loved his wife and son more than he loved the job, as soon as his shift was up, he was more than happy to head home and eat his wife’s cooking and listen to his son prattle on about what he’d learned at school—all of which went over Ralph's head.  
“Hey!” Ralph called out after checking the net, just to make sure he hadn't actually caught the unknown toon. “Get back here!”  
Dot never thought she would be _glad_ that Ralph was hellbent on chasing her down with his oversized butterfly net, but there she was, practically overjoyed. It brought back a sense of normalcy after all that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours.  
“Does saying that ever work on us, Ralph?” Dot shot back, glancing back as Ralph hurried after her. It was a shame she was so short, usually in times like these Yakko would scoop up any sibling lagging behind, putting his long legs to work.  
“Us?” Ralph echoed, confusion permeating from his tone.  
Dot could have screamed. In fact, she did just that. “’Us'! You know! You always chase _us_ , the Warner siblings!”  
Ralph knew he wasn't the smartest man alive, but he was absolutely resolute when he spoke. “You're not a Warner brother.” Technically not wrong, she was a _sister_ , not a _brother_. “There's only two Warner brothers.”  
That only served to incense Dot further, as if her rage _hadn't_ already hit an all-time high. She had half a mind to pull her beloved mace out and teach Ralph a thing or two, but that also meant she'd have to be in close proximity of the guard—net length proximity. For once, she didn't let her rage do the talking, she didn’t have Yakko to bail her out, or Wakko to back her up with a mallet of his own now. She just kept booking it, letting her rage fuel her breakneck pace.  
As fast as Dot was running, Ralph was still hot on her heels, his longer legs meant that three or four of her strides matched just one of his own. It wasn't fair. Why did she have to be drawn so short? Why did their artists decide to give leg privileges to Yakko and Yakko only?  
Running down the clear roadway that lined the Warner Brothers lot was pointless, there was no way to lose Ralph if Dot didn't make him lose line of sight. The youngest Warner sibling stumbled as she changed direction without warning, ducking into an alleyway between two studios.  
For his part, Ralph made a noise of surprise, but continued his pursuit. Once he caught her, maybe Plotz would deem that he had done enough hard work for one day, and let him return to listening to his radio without any flak. It didn't hurt that, thus far, she hadn't put quite up the fight that the Warner brothers did. Yakko often talked until Ralph was left confused as to what he'd been trying to achieve from the start, and Wakko, Ralph shuddered as he ran, Wakko had that mallet of his. And his bombs. And cans of oil that made the ground all slippery. He'd rather chase this particular toon than those two in tandem any day.  
Dot ducked down another alleyway, wishing her small size would work in her favor _for once_ and make her harder to spot.  
When Ralph came down the same alleyway with all the grace of an enraged, stampeding elephant, Dot knew the wish had been pointless.  
It wasn't long before Dot hit a dead end.  
If Ralph thought he had the advantage now, he had another thing coming. With the way he held his net, and his—now slowed—gait, Dot knew she had a chance of diving past his side. With his arms raised above his head, holding the net aloft, he wouldn't be able to just grab her.  
She just needed to time it—  
“Hey! Wait!”  
—was that Yakko's voice in the distance?  
Dot froze at the exclamation, so many emotions and thoughts all vying for attention in the exact same moment.  
What would have been a great escape became the opposite.  
Ralph didn't hesitate when the toon in front of him froze, he tuned out the exclamation of the eldest Warner brother with ease, and swung the net down with a _twang_ as metal hit concrete.  
There was no doubt he'd caught the toon in question this time.

* * *

Yakko could have sworn he'd spotted a flash of pink and black flitting across the end of an alleyway. He'd frowned, squinting down the backway as he debated on if he had been seeing things or not.  
Wakko followed his brother's gaze, then made the decision for him. The younger brother headed into the alleyway without hesitation, but also without alacrity. It was more akin to a lackadaisical stroll then hurrying after a toon they could be related to—he knew Yakko would only express concern and doubt at the validity of Plotz’s statements and he wasn't in the mood for that at the moment.  
The problem, was that Yakko had no idea where to go once the original alleyway ended, instead splitting off into two directions.  
This was a pointless endeavor.  
Maybe he could just, “Hey!” Yakko cupped his hands around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. Louder now, he shouted, “Wait!”  
There was no sound after Yakko's shout that either of them could hear. No response from the toon, or even signs of movement. The two looked at one another with matching shrugs. Yakko headed down the left path, with Wakko trailing close behind. Wakko knew better than to try and split up, Yakko's anxiety was at an all-time high and there was nothing to gain from making it spike higher still.  
When they ultimately saw nothing and no one, they backtracked and headed the opposite direction.  
Still nothing.  
Like it had been a mere figment of Yakko's imagination.  
Was this what a guilty conscience entailed? Because, if so, Yakko loathed and despised it.  
“What now?” Wakko questioned, voice soft.  
“If she's so desperate to be our sister I'm sure she'll come to us. Lets go home, for now.”  
Wakko's face scrunched up. It seemed awful soon to give up. Though, as he studied his older brother's face, he could see the dark rings under his eyes. Wakko had almost forgotten about how he'd found his brother awake in the kitchen, obviously not having slept since the incident.  
So, instead of arguing, Wakko nodded. “Let's go home. I'm starving!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this, and my other fics, if you have happened to read them. I always read the comments and get excited to see kudos. I may not reply to comments, but that's because I'm awkward, but I cherish them greatly!  
> Have a great day! :D


	5. Owner of a Lonely Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotz decides what to do with Dot, Yakko and Wakko return to their normal lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad y'all love the Dotent (Dot content) even though she's having a rough go of it.  
> Don't worry, it only gets worse from here :D

As soon as the door to the water tower shut with a _clang_ behind Yakko and Wakko, the older brother pulled his younger sibling into a one-armed hug without even the slightest warning. 

The younger brother, while obviously bewildered, accepted it without _much_ fuss. Wakko made a disgusted face, though it was performative as the younger brother returned the hug. 

Yakko broke the hug and ruffled his brother's fur through his red cap, pushing said cap down over Wakko's eyes in a playful manner. Yakko needed to break this oppressive, depressed aura that seemed to permeate the air around them, and he knew riling his younger brother up would do just the trick. Yakko could try and find their, supposed, sister later. For now? He didn't want to think about it too hard, and he wanted to make sure Wakko wasn't shaken up from what all had transpired. 

"Hey!" Wakko protested, though the younger brother was grinning. He swiped blindly at Yakko with one hand while the other adjusted his cap back to its normal position. 

Yakko dodged the half-hearted attack with ease, "What's that?" Yakko teased, "I can't hear you from all the way down there, short stuff." He grinned down at his younger brother. It was almost unfair how Yakko towered over his baby brother, he was the oldest _and_ the tallest. Some people had all the luck. 

Wakko glowered up at his older sibling. "Haha." He deadpanned. "Low hanging fruit going after my height. I thought you were funnier than that." 

"Those fruit aren't the only thing that is stuck low to the ground." Yakko quipped, "You know, your height explains a lot about you, I read something that said _the shorter you are, the closer you are to Hades_ , so you can't help your personality." 

Wakko had half a mind to try and smash his brother with his mallet, but the appearance of his beloved pet frog, Sir Croaks-A-Lot, hopping his way over to them spared his older brother's life. 

Yakko may not have realized it, but he owed this frog one. 

The younger brother grinned at his pet. "Did'ja miss us?" He asked the frog as he moved to kneel down in front of him. 

As if he understood, the frog gave off a slow _ribbit_ in response and gave an even slower blink. 

That confirmed it well enough for Wakko, they **had** been missed. The younger Warner was gentle as he scooped up his pet; as destructive as the younger brother could be, he wasn't one to be needlessly rough with more fragile creatures. He was _wacky_ , not **cruel**. 

"I see I've been replaced." Yakko mused, humor in his voice. 

"He doesn't nag me, and unlike **you** he can drink milk." Wakko retorted as he placed the frog atop his hat, where the frog had become accustomed to riding in style. The other usual alternative was to ride, tucked in the neck part of Wakko's oversized turtleneck sweater. 

Yakko sputtered at that, taken by surprise by the last, offhanded comment from his younger brother. 

Was there no mercy within these metal walls? _Nah_. And that kind of unexpected retort got nothing but respect from Yakko, even if it _had_ been said at his expense.

* * *

Plotz didn't know just what to say when Ralph came barging in, not even waiting for Plotz's secretary to ask the CEO if now was a good time for Plotz to have a visitor. Plotz had half a mind to shout at the lumbering, idiotic security guard, up until he spotted the net, and the way it swung and shook without Ralph even moving it. 

Okay. _Maybe_ he could give Ralph a minute to explain himself before he started yelling outright. 

"What did you bring me?" Plotz asked instead, keeping his voice even. 

He didn't want to allow himself to be excited; the amount of times Ralph had failed when he somehow thought he'd succeeded was too many to count on fingers and toes alone. 

Ralph looked triumphant as he extended the net towards Plotz. 

What he'd heard as an almost buzzing from the net was actually Dot's rapidfire, but very muffled, cursing and insulting of the security guard and of the entire situation at hand. 

Plotz would know that annoying high-pitched voice anywhere. Ralph had succeeded. He'd _actually_ succeeded! Oh, Plotz could have thrown a party right then and there, could have jumped atop his desk and started _dancing_ his was so thrilled. For now, he would settle for buying a bottle of champagne and downing it by himself later that same day. 

He had more immediate issues to settle at the momentm though. Once and for all. 

"And the Warner brothers...?" Plotz questioned. For a moment he could see the gears turning in Ralph's mind as the guard tried to parse out what Plotz was alluding to. 

It clicked. After a solid minute, it clicked. Plotz could make out the **exact** moment the guard recalled what other stipulation Plotz had added alongside catching the toon. _Don't let the Warner brothers spot her_. 

"Did not see her." Ralph confirmed with an exaggerated nod and a dopey grin. 

" **Plotz** ," Dot's voice was louder, clearer and radiated the strongest threatening aura Plotz had _ever_ heard, from her spot within the net. It made more sense to the Warner sister now. Plotz **absolutely** had something to do with this! Her efforts to get out of the net, whether by tearing it apart with her bare hands or by shaking the net so hard that the guard dropped it, she didn't care which, doubled in intensity. Either way, she had to get out and she had to **throttle** Plotz by his nonexistent neck. "I'm going to get out of here and when I do, you're going to regret pulling this little stunt!" 

Plotz wasn't sure which Warner sibling he **loathed** the most, they each had their own annoying and destructive qualities that made them stand out from one another. 

Yakko's was usually the least outright obvious form of deviousness and destruction, but he could talk circles around anyone he wanted to. 

Wakko, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He wasn't subtle in his devastation of property ~~and Plotz's sanity~~. 

And Dot? She seemed to think she was cute, and tried--and usually succeeded, much to Plotz's chagrin--to charm her way into or out of any situation she found disagreeable in some shape, form, or fashion. But then that quick temper of hers was a problem all on its own. 

She was like a lesser, unholy amalgamation of her brothers skillsets. 

But, while he had one Warner trapped and unable to put her idle threats into action, why not lord it over her a bit? 

Plotz grinned, his tone permeating condescension. "Now, **Dottie** , that's not very polite." 

At the utterance of _Dottie_ , Dot's enraged exclamations and cursing only grew louder and even faster paced, the shaking of the net she was entrapped in only grew more pronounced. 

No man, not even her **brothers** , would be able to stop her from wringing the life out of the CEO at this point. 

This was humiliating! Her brothers forgot about her, she had been kicked out of the water tower by said brothers, and then _Ralph_ , of all people, had caught her! Now Plotz was calling her Dottie. _Really?!_ What had she done to deserve this? 

Ralph looked uncertain as he watched this pan out. He couldn't put his finger on why, but this seemed kind of cruel... Was it really fair to taunt someone while they couldn't do anything in return? If this was his beloved adopted son— 

"Ralph." Plotz spoke up, trying—and failing—to tamp down his grin. 

Ralph's line of nigh-traitorous thinking came to a screeching halt and promptly abandoned. "Yes?" 

Plotz pulled out a simplified map of the buildings that lined the Warner Brothers studio lot from his desk, numbered and labeled clearly. 

"I need you to take her," Plotz motioned to the net that _still_ held Dot, in which Dot had become almost eerily silent. "to Lot 67." 

The blank look Ralph gave Plotz only served to incense the CEO. 

_Breathe_. Plotz reminded himself. He was slowly getting what he wanted, he just needed to be patient a _little_ longer. 

"I've had some parameters set in place. I need her locked up, I don't want her running around and causing problems," For him. He couldn't stand the idea of Dot escaping and rejoining her brothers, causing utter chaos, and undoing all of his hard work. Just the _notion_ of it—and all the money that would then have been wasted--nearly brought him to tears. Instead, he straightened his tie, a nervous tic of his, and pointed towards the specific lot he'd mentioned, tucked away from the the bigger, more used lots. "I've taken the liberty of having a special, ahem, _home_ created for our dear _Dottie_ , why don't you go take her to it and make sure it's to her liking?" 

At the mention of the loathsome nickname, again, Dot threatened physical harm against the CEO once more, which was summarily ignored as Plotz watched Ralph look over the map, then look up at Plotz. 

Ralph looked bewildered. Didn't Plotz want her captured? Why was he trying to be nice to her now? 

Plotz rolled his eyes. "I made a 'home' she can't escape from, you idiot! Take her there, lock her up while I figure out a more _permanent_ solution!" 

This 'home' was a mimicry of the water tower the Warners—well, Warner **brothers** —resided in. If it had worked for decades once, why not use a similar design for something that was, hopefully, much more temporary? 

Plus, and Plotz wasn't ashamed to delight in the little detail, it would be like rubbing salt in the wound. From prison to home to prison once more. 

Poetic, wasn't it? 

"Oh." Ralph managed. 

"And Ralph?" 

"Yes....?" Ralph didn't like Plotz's tone, it sent a shiver down his spine and he had a bad feeling about what was going to be said next. 

"If she escapes or those damned Warner brothers catch sight of her, you're **fired!** " The last word was shouted with such volume that Ralph flinched and for a moment he swore he heard a ringing in his ears. 

"Plotzy," Dot's voice dripped venom, though it was muffled a tad from her current, makeshift prison. "When I get out of here—" 

"You'll what?" Plotz taunted, reclining back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "You're **nothing** without your brothers to bail you out. You're a footnote. An _afterthought_. A toon created merely to add more female viewers to the mix, to prove Hollywood wasn't quite so sexist back then. Your oldest brother is the only one with any _actual_ sense of humor, and even then that's only on occasion. Too bad he's almost as destructive and altogether annoying as," Plotz sounded disgusted as he spoke next. " _Wakko_." 

If Plotz thought Dot had been mad before, now she sounded incandescently enraged. "You leave my brothers **out** of this, you—" 

"Ralph," Plotz interrupted her once more, garnering an enraged noise of frustration from Dot. "we're done here. Take her away." 

Ralph stared at Plotz for a moment, his brain trying to catch up to the conversation between Plotz and Dot, but it was slow going. 

Finally, the guard nodded, and turned, the net swaying with the motion. Ralph could only form two thoughts from the whole back and forth between his boss and the toon: this 'Dot' was related to the Warner Brothers? There was a Warner _sister_?

* * *

Wakko slid a piece of paper in front of Sir Croaks-A-Lot, followed by sliding numerous paints in front of him. The younger brother then lifted the frog, and oh-so-carefully placed the frog's webbed feet in the paint, then set him on the paper. The frog stayed there for a moment, before he walked forward, smacked one foot in the left corner of the page, and then moved backward, decorating the paper with different colored frog footprints and flung paint blobs as he moved about. 

Satisfied that Sir Croaks-A-Lot was busy painting, Wakko shifted his focus to his own art piece, though, instead of paint, he was busy scribbling with colored pencils and even colored pens. 

Yakko came to a halt in front of the two little artists, placing his hands on his hips as he watched the frog trail a few 'frogprints' over the floor instead of the paper. 

"Do I even _want_ to know?" He questioned. Still, this wasn't the weirdest thing his brother had been caught doing. 

"He needs enrichment." Wakko responded simply, "I read it in a magazine." 

"A magazine on frogs?" Since when did Wakko bother going after magazines? And Yakko knew he hadn't picked up any relating to amphibians. 

"Dogs." Wakko herded Sir Croaks-A-Lot back onto the paper after he'd strayed a few steps off of it. "Close enough though." 

Yakko spared the frog's masterpiece one last glance before he fixed his attention on Wakko's art piece. 

"What are you making there, Baby Bro?" 

Wakko paused in his drawing to turn the paper where Yakko could see it easier: the beginnings of a group picture, or more accurately, a family picture. Yakko, Wakko, and the frog stood in a line. 

Though...Wakko couldn't help but feel something or _someone_ was missing, but he was both bewildered by such a silly notion and the more he tried to figure out **who** his brain apparently thought was missing, the harder it was to dredge up any details. Wakko shrugged internally, must have been nothing, or no one, of import. 

Yakko couldn't help but smile down at the art, and the artist himself. "You're giving Michaelangelo a run for his money." 

Wakko grinned, "Who knew ninja turtles carried cash?" 

Yakko rolled his eyes, though his kept his gaze lifted to the ceiling as if begging for divine intervention. That was what he got for complimenting his brother, he supposed.

* * *

As soon as the door to the fake water tower shut behind Dot, leaving her in complete and utter darkness, she threw all of her weight against it. 

The only response was multiple sets of locks being locked with such a finality that it sent a bolt of near panic through the youngest Warner's chest. 

_Not **again**_. Not this personal slice of hell. And this time it would be without her brothers to keep her tethered. Please, she'd take **anything** but _decades_ of dark and loneliness and now she would truly be forgotten until Plotz did something even worse and— 

The thoughts were trying to strangle and ultimately suffocate Dot before five minutes had even passed. 

"Let! Me! **Out**!" Dot screamed. Her voice echoed and bounced along the metal interior, the more it ricocheted the more mocking it seemed to sound. As if her own voice was taunting her. 

There were no noises outside the fake water tower. She couldn't even hear Ralph's lumbering footsteps anymore. 

She wanted her brothers. 

As independent as she was, she missed them. Panic and a bone-deep fear made her hands tremble and she closed her hands into fists to try and quell it. 

Plotz's words rang through her mind: a _footnote_ , an **afterthought**. That **bastard**. She was so much more than Hollywood's paltry attempt at variety or some _audience pandering_ toon. 

There was an almost feral desperation in her drive to get out of this mocking, well, mock-up of the water tower she'd once resided in. 

"Okay, Dot, focus." The youngest Warner muttered to herself, sitting down. She curled her knees to her chest, tail wrapping around herself as best it could. She needed to figure out a way to get out of here. She needed to get out and _strangle_ Plotz. 

The last time she'd been locked up, her brothers had been trapped with her. It'd taken them _decades_ to finagle a way out, and most of that had been thanks to Wakko's gag bag. The bag practically reached into the _void_ , allowing the middle child to pull out almost anything, no matter how bulky or heavy. Dot didn't have such a bag. She was known for her cuteness, her temper ~~, the way she didn't shine brighter than her brothers and was always a steep step under them when it came to wit or physical comedy~~. 

_Why_ was she letting Plotz rattle her so? 

She'd never been so....so emotionally _fragile_ before. It was embarrassing! 

Then again, she'd always had her brothers around, and as much as they enjoyed taking snipes at one another, they also complimented and supported one another in equal measure. 

Lately, her life had been a cavalcade of blows against her, emotionally and psychologically. 

Dot looked up to where she instinctively knew the door lay. How many times could she hit it with a mallet before she wore herself out? She had some steam to blow off, after all, and hey, maybe she could **break down** the door. 

Only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to make use of this endnote to recommend a fic that fucked me up emotionally: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13794502/1/Please-be-here-on-time
> 
> Also to share art I had commissioned by the lovely TheTimeLimit for a scene in chapter 2, though I'm sure most of you have seen it, I must share it here because I love the art so much: https://thetimelimit.tumblr.com/post/641944574588305409/commision-alert-escene-from-the-fanfic-dont


	6. Out of Touch, Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotz is living it up on top, Yakko and Wakko though? Well, at least one of them isn't.

It seemed things were looking up for Thaddeus Plotz. 

_Finally._ The CEO thought to himself as he drummed his fingers atop his desk, looking out once more to that yellow **eyesore** that was the Warner Brother water tower. 

Once those damned _toons_ were taken care of, he couldn't help but wonder if he could convince the studio to tear it down. The tower could be replaced, in another part of the lot, with a less gaudy paint scheme, right? He'd call it 'rebranding' or use it as a publicity stunt of sorts to make sure the change at least drew in money and positive attention. 

The gears started turning at that last thought, plans and ideas coming to mind. Instead of a party for one, why not throw a whole _soiree_? Of course, Plotz would be the only one to know what the party was **actually** celebrating, but, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Besides, he was doing all of humanity a favor and saving them from the Warner siblings. Good riddance to a waste of perfectly good ink! 

But first, he needed a timeline. 

His business associate had gone radio silent since their previous talk. The man, in his dark gray robes, had touted off the excuse that he needed time and to gather the ingredients necessary to _complete the ritual two more times_ , and apparently it was best to do each 'ritual' with time in between. When Plotz had ~~demanded~~ asked why, the associate had merely turned away with a dismissive wave of his hand, robe rippling with the movement. 

_"It's something beyond your level of comprehension, I'm afraid. You stick to," The man had trailed his eyes along the picture frames Plotz had lined along the walls of his office; some frames were pictures of himself next to various movie stars, others were of newspapers that depicted Warner Brothers—and more importantly, **himself** —in a very positive light with the same expression that one would give if they were looking at something particularly disgusting or considered beneath them. “your, ahem, specialty and I’ll stick to mine.” He’d placed a hand on his chest, looking down—both literally and figuratively—at Plotz. “Do not expect me to work miracles in mere minutes, Plotz. This takes much more skill and knowledge than you know.” _

Yeah, yeah, _whatever_. Plotz was stuck between annoyance and a grudging respect for the man. He’d made what Plotz wanted happen, well, to a degree. Dot was gone, forgotten by anyone and everyone, even her siblings. Plotz couldn’t help but revel in the knowledge that even Yakko and Wakko, her own **brothers** wanted nothing to do with her because they believed she wasn’t one of them, that she’d come from another studio. 

He idly wondered if they considered her a sort of parasite or a pity case. 

Either way, it didn’t matter now. Dot was captured and, if Ralph didn’t mess up this one _simple_ task, she was out of sight and out of everyone’s—but his and his associate’s—minds. Soon enough, he’d come up with a permanent solution, and by then he was hoping _at least_ one more Warner brother would be forgotten as well.

* * *

Wakko watched his older brother from his spot on the floor, next to his beloved pet. It didn't skip Wakko's attention that Yakko had snuck off not long after he'd likely deemed Wakko ‘distracted’. It was a shame that Yakko seemed to forget just how perceptive Wakko could be at times. If Wakko had to guess, Yakko hadn't quite given up on getting answers just yet. The eldest sibling could be predictable at times—at least to those who knew him, which…was _only_ Wakko, he supposed. 

The eldest brother had taken up his post in the spot furthest from where Wakko had taken up his coloring endeavor. He’d dragged a phone over to his side, receiver in one hand, telephone book in the other. He needed to get to the bottom of this whole…whatever it was, but he didn't want Wakko to have to deal with it more than he already had. Wakko was the younger brother, he shouldn't have to put up with this kind of nonsense. 

Truth be told, Yakko doubted he'd get anywhere. He didn't waste his valuable time skulking around the lots of other major film players, what was the point? They didn't want to put up with the Warner brothers either, and Yakko didn't know where the exact line between ‘annoying' and ‘legitimately wanting to catch these kids and throw them into a bottomless pit to never be seen again' lay. It was easier here, where Ralph could _never_ do his job correctly, and with Plotz, who had more money than brain cells, who had yet to succeed in doing anything to actually hinder the Warner brothers. 

Yakko flipped through the phone book, for a moment he did wonder how that third toon was doing. Maybe he'd been too harsh. 

The eldest sibling glanced up to Wakko, who was still drawing something, _nah_. He would do anything to keep his baby brother out of harm's way. 

Sometimes Wakko hated being the younger sibling. As much as Yakko let Wakko run wild—especially if it was work related—there was still a protective streak inside the older sibling that was a mile long. It was during times like these that Wakko wanted nothing more than to shout, _I don't need to be babied!_ , but it wouldn't change his brother, and it would only make Yakko wax poetic about how they were both simultaneously not-adults and yet adults if they counted the year they were drawn until now, and Wakko didn't have it in him to listen to _that_ entire monologue again. 

Wakko wanted to know what was going on just as much, if not more, than Yakko did. Yakko was blinded by a degree of protective older sibling, whereas Wakko just wanted to know the truth. 

The younger Warner sibling could hear his brother talking, unable to make out the individual words as Yakko kept his voice much lower than normal, trying not to draw Wakko's attention or concern him. 

Two could play at this game. Wakko would give it a day or two for Yakko's paranoia to die down a tad before he'd sneak out of the water tower and look for answers himself. 

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Thaddeus Plotz didn't consider himself one that was 'easily startled', but it would be a lie if he said he didn't jump when the door to his office swung open without even a split-second of warning. 

The CEO placed a hand to his chest, heart thumping a mile a minute as he glared in the direction of his rude visitor. Up until he realized who this particular visitor was: 

He mysterious, and outright rude, business associate. 

The man seemed to smirk at Plotz's reaction, striding into the CEO's office like he belonged there. He gave a sweep of his hand and the door shut behind him without anyone even touching it. 

Plotz didn't even bother asking how he had done that, he knew his associate would only skirt around the question and yet manage to demean him at the same time. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Plotz questioned, brows furrowed, hands wringing together. As much as this man had helped him, was _still_ helping him, he put Plotz on edge and pissed him off in equal measure. 

His associate didn't respond, taking his time to sit in the chair across from Plotz's desk. He crossed his legs, steepling his hands together as he looked down his nose at Plotz. 

"It is time." A pause, "Tonight is the night." 

Plotz's eyes widened. "To get rid of the Warners?" There was an undercurrent of excitement in his voice, the CEO sat up straighter, his eyes flicked down to his desk where Dot's flower _still_ resided, before he looked back to his partner. 

The man gave one, slow nod. "To a degree. You are lucky I was able to gather the materials needed this quickly. Though," He frowned, staring a hole into the floor. "I was not able to acquire all the materials needed for **both**. I can only do one more Warner at this time, and then the cycle will begin anew." He'd told Plotz he was only able to do one at a time before, but the CEO either had forgotten or greed drove him to try and push the envelope. Given Plotz's personality, it could have been either. 

Plotz deflated at that. "Only one?" 

"You are lucky I can do one at all at this time." He retorted. 

Plotz grumbled internally, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes all the while. There was always something that caused a delay, always some excuse. Had it been any other situation, Plotz would have never put up with such poor progress, such a horrid personality. People should be eager to have the honor of speaking to Plotz, not treat him like they were looking at a bug. Plotz was a CEO for crying out loud! 

"So," The man spoke up, drawing Plotz from his reverie. "Which one do you want forgotten this time?" 

Plotz got to choose? That was like a balm to his aggravated nerves. He liked being in control, and he was more than happy to decide which Warner brother got the axe, got forgotten by his loved ones, or would it be 'loved one' now that Dot was out of the picture? He couldn't help but smirk at that last thought. 

Though it did remind him that he needed to double check that Ralph completed the job and did it _correctly_. 

For the moment, he would be content to make his decision. Plotz leaned back in his chair, eyes to the ceiling as he mulled over the choices. 

Yakko or Wakko? They both drove him to his wit's end in differing ways. 

If Plotz never had to listen to Yakko talk incessantly in circles about nothing of consequence again it would be too soon. But, if Wakko caused more property damage 'on accident' he was going to rip out what little remained of his hair. 

"Wakko." Plotz spoke with finality. Maybe without Wakko and Dot to egg Yakko on, the oldest Warner sibling would be less zany, more marketable. A last minute cash grab before Plotz, ultimately, made the world forget about the Warner ringleader. 

"Wakko it is." The man confirmed. "I shall see you tomorrow, proof in hand." 

"Looking forward to it!" And for once, he was looking forward to seeing him, or at least the proof of another job successfully completed. 

Things were most definitely looking up for Plotz.

* * *

Wakko, unsurprisingly, was up as the clock struck midnight. Not sleepwalking, as he often did, but up and scrounging for a 'snack'. The younger brother couldn't help that he had a voracious appetite, he was just drawn that way....and drawn with an illness that accompanied it if he just so happened to be _unable_ to eat. What sort of sick artist would create a toon with that sort of affliction? It just didn't seem humane. 

Though, Wakko wasn't human, so did being 'humane' really transcend to him as well? 

This was too much thinking for, Wakko couldn't see the clock, _way too early in the morning o'clock_. He blearily ambled around their little kitchen area, on the hunt for his favorite cereal. 

Would this be considered a super duper late dinner or an extra early breakfast? That was the real question. 

Though, either way, it didn't matter; those little marshmallows in the shape of spaceships and aliens and stars were about to become no more. 

Rest in piece to Yakko, but he wasn't even going to get one bowl—hell, not even a _handful_ —from this brand new box. Wakko opened the cabinet door, standing on tiptoe and grabbed blindly for a few moments before he was able to get his hand on the cereal in question. Without hesitation or remorse, he ripped the cardboard top open, followed by the plastic bag, before dumping the entire bag of cereal into his mouth. 

He took a moment to savor the taste before he proceeded to eat the plastic bag and cardboard cereal box in one go. Next, he retrieved the half-gallon of milk from the fridge and drank half of it straight from the carton before shoving it back inside the fridge. Satisfied, he turned to head back to bed, padding his way towards the bunk bed, only to realize something: 

There was **no bunk bed**. 

Wakko's eyes widened. To say the younger Warner brother was bewildered and caught off guard would be the understatement of the century. 

Wakko hurried towards Yakko, an almost desperate edge to his voice as he spoke. 

"Yakko." Wakko shook his brother's shoulders, eyes wide as he looked over the bunk once more. Nothing had changed from his first, shocked, stare; it was still no longer a bunk, instead it really was a normal bed. One story. Nothing like it had been mere minutes ago. Wakko would have suspected some sort of prank from his older brother, but Yakko was out like a light, muttering to himself about a song regarding various holidays. Something he'd likely been working on, and even while asleep the gears were churning. **"Yakko."** Wakko shook Yakko's shoulders a bit harder. 

"What—?!" The eldest Warner shot up into a sitting position, blinked blearily once, then stiffened at the realization he wasn't alone. There was another person in **his** water tower. 

"Yakko—" Wakko stopped as soon as he saw the expression on Yakko's face: Bewilderment, distrust, irritation, maybe even a flicker of **anger**. 

"Who are you?" Yakko demanded. 

"What?" Wakko felt his mouth go dry, eyes the size of dinner plates as he stared up at his older brother. "You're joking...." His voice was scant above a whisper with the next word. " _Right_?" 

"There's no punchline to be found here, unless you find it funny to be woken up by a stranger at," Yakko glanced to a clock on the wall, illuminated by a gaudy hotdog nightlight he didn't remember getting. "Midnight." As lackadaisical as Yakko's response seemed, there was an edge to his voice, a tensity in his shoulders and the line of his jaw. 

Even with Wakko's facial fur being white, his face managed to become paler. It felt like his brain had short-circuited and all he could recall was the inverse of this moment, when it had been himself and Yakko saying similar things to the other toon that claimed to be their sister. 

Wakko's voice faltered as he spoke next. "I...I'm your _brother_. **Wakko**.” 

Yakko snorted at that, derisive. "I don't have a brother, which is funny seeing as the studio is called 'Warner **Brothers** ' and yet there is only _one_ Warner toon." A missed opportunity, if Yakko had anything to say about it. It was hard work being the only Warner toon, after all. “That name isn't even original.” He added, muttering under his breath. 

_What?_ Wakko's gloved hands shook, all his thoughts were jumbled. The gears were desperately trying to turn in his mind, but it felt like they were covered in rust. His head swam. Whatever Yakko said next sounded muffled, like Wakko had been submerged underwater and, of course, he couldn't breathe, his lungs didn't want to expand, leaving his breathing rapid and shallow. 

How was he supposed to convince his own _big brother_ that they were siblings? Why had this happened? How had this happened? Had this been how that other toon felt? Did that mean she actually was their sister? And yet, if he'd been forgotten as well, why could he still not remember being related to her? 

There were too many questions and concerns all vying for attention at once in Wakko's mind, and he couldn't figure out how to focus all of his attention on just one or two of those swirling, rampant thoughts. 

Yakko yawned, stretching until his limbs popped and he gave Wakko a flat look. "Look, if this is some attempt to become a Warner sibling, it's not worth it and your timing is absolutely _atrocious_." 

Yakko **never** looked at Wakko like that, like he was an annoyance. Like he was just wasting his time. The sudden, unwarranted, change in his brother's demeanor was nothing less than startling and it left a cold pit in Wakko's stomach, like he'd eaten a block of ice and the ice just wouldn't melt. 

Wakko wasn't sure how to respond, all this was just too much at once for him to be able to parse. Yakko was the thinker, the leader, Wakko was the younger brother--or was he the middle sibling in a _trio_? Or was he now an only child? 

"I..." Wakko couldn't even spot his beloved red cap. First the bunk, now his cap. What next? He glanced down to double-check he was still donning his blue sweater. He was. Small miracles. "I'll go." 

Yakko gave him a look that signaled, _That's for the best._. The older--only?--Warner toon watched Wakko trudge towards the door, as if the younger toon expected Yakko to start laughing any second and say, _"It was just a joke, Baby Bro! You should have seen your face!"_. 

But Yakko didn't. 

The metal door to the water tower shut behind Wakko with an almost mournful clang and it left the toon feeling empty and, though he would never admit it, scared. 

What now? What in the world was he supposed to do now?! 

Wakko leaned against the tower wall, sliding down until he was sitting. The young toon wrapped his arms around his calves and buried his face on his sweater-covered knees, his tail wrapped around him as if it would somehow offer even a sliver of protection. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and he rubbed his face furiously against the baby blue sweater to wipe them away. 

He had only been 'alone' for about thirty seconds, but he just....he just wanted his brother _back_. 

What had Wakko done wrong? Was he being punished? 

Wakko knew he couldn't just stay there, sitting next to the door of the water tower, but what was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to _go_? 

And most importantly: where was his hat? It hadn't been on the floor since the bunk had, what, magically disappeared? He wasn't donning it at the moment, and there was no way Yakko would wear it, it just wasn't his style. 

Wakko looked up at the sky. The full moon shone down like a beacon on him, illuminating his shame and loneliness. He was struck by a wave of intense guilt for not having tried to defend the random toon's—his sister's?—innocence when she'd attempted to plead her case. He hadn't known, though, hadn't realized she was going through this, he'd just assumed it was some sort of ploy for...for _something_ , and had let his older brother take the lead and decide how to proceed. 

Wait... 

Wakko jumped to his feet, his heartbeat pounded in his ears, adrenaline coursing at his sudden idea. _Of course_! Maybe if he found her, she'd know more of what was going on! Or, at the very least, they could get to the bottom of it together! 

Now, all he had to do was find her...but where to begin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In b4 people are, understandably, upset about Wakko being forgotten: Hatless Wakko! Hatless Wakko! 
> 
> Thank you for reading this! Your kudos and comments make my day! 😄💖


	7. In the Shadow of the Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dot exists in the TWT (temporary water tower), Plotz comes to a realization (again), and Yakko has a surprise visitor.

Dot leaned against the wall of the temporary water tower, sliding down the cold, reinforced steel until she was sitting down, knees to her chest, arms wrapping around them, her tail curling around one of her legs. She was the picture of pathetic at this moment in time; and to put it lightly, she was _exhausted_. Dot had spent—well, she wasn’t sure how much time had passed given it was pitch black in the water tower and she had no way of telling time in a way that would be even close to **accurate** —a good amount of time trying anything and everything she could to smash her way out of the tower. Smash, claw, hell, she’d even tried to _charm_ her way out of the tower. It wasn’t like anyone else was around to judge her attempts anyway. 

There was a glaring problem in her various attempts though: she wasn’t her older brother _Wakko_. 

Wakko was the one with the gag bag, the one that could pull almost any item ever invented out of his bag, no matter how big or unwieldy, and use it to his—or the collective group’s—advantage. The usual items that Dot could pull from her hammerspace tended to be mallets, maces, or something tangentially humorous. 

This situation wasn’t humorous. 

If— _when_ — **if** she got out of this cursed water tower, she was going to storm right up to Plotz’s office and—...what? What would she do exactly? Murder the CEO of Warner Brothers? As much as her hands itched to strangle the man, even though he was lacking a neck to squeeze, there was no way that would fly. Would she demand he explain just _what in the hell was going on_?! As if he would give her a straight answer, and Dot didn’t doubt for a second that he’d call Ralph up to try and capture her again. If she got captured by _Ralph_ **again** she was just going to have to die of embarrassment. Getting caught once was bad enough, but if it happened a _second_ time? She wasn’t fit to be a Warner at that point. 

Was she even still a Warner at this one? 

A noise of intense frustration escaped the youngest Warner sibling. What was she supposed to do? How did you fix a situation like this? 

Though...Dot raised a fist and slammed it against the steel wall, only serving to cause a resonating sound in return as the metal didn’t give in the slightest, those thoughts might have been getting a _tad_ ahead of herself. 

What the hell had Plotz used to make up this temporary water tower? Titanium? Tungsten? Titanium mixed with Tungsten? ….was that even possible? She was mulling over semantics at this point, but what else could she do? She’d rather waste her time debating on the materials used to build this then let her thoughts shift to what Plotz was going to do with her when his apparent plan came together. He’d said it himself, while she’d been stuck in Ralph’s stupid butterfly net: _"I made a 'home' she can't escape from, you idiot! Take her there, lock her up while I figure out a more **permanent** solution!"_

As much as Dot had tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling back to that comment, she couldn’t help but wonder: what _was_ this ‘permanent solution’ of his going to entail? 

How did one permanently get rid of a toon? If there was a way to do that, wouldn’t they have done it long ago instead of locking the Warner siblings in a water tower for **decades**? Though, maybe there hadn’t been the possibility or supplies or even know-how to do so back then. But now? That was anyone’s guess. 

Dot didn’t want to find out the hard way. 

She moved her hands from around her knees to instead bury her face in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut. 

She wished her brothers were here. Being here alone was _torture_ , only serving to dredge up memories she’d tried oh-so-desperately to suppress of the **last** time she—and her brothers—had been sealed away. 

Well, she didn’t want her brothers _here_ with her in this temporary water tower, just... _Ugh!_ She knew what she meant, but she also felt guilty for wishing she wasn’t alone. Was that selfish? Or was she merely following that overdone phrase ‘misery loves company’? She didn’t want her brothers to be miserable, she just...wanted to be near those who could provide even a sliver of comfort. Of understanding. She wanted them to offer their differing ways of thinking to help her come up with a solution that seemed to be _just beyond_ her grasp. 

Frustration mounted once again at her inability to _save herself_ like she was some pathetic damsel in distress. This was everything she was drawn **not** to be. She was, and she hated this cliché phrase with all her heart, a _strong, independent woman_. Physically strong, emotionally strong, etcetera, she was the whole ‘strong’ package. It physically pained her to need help in getting out of this situation from someone other than herself because, at this rate, there was no way she was getting out of here with her own two hands—or, well, the mallets she pulled out of her hammerspace. 

Still, until someone _just so happened to stumble upon her_ , like Rapunzel in her tower, she’d go back to beating the steel walls with a mallet and her righteous fury.

* * *

Plotz was confused. 

He remembered talking to his business associate yesterday, remembered him waltzing into Plotz’s office without warning or preamble like he owned the place, but he couldn’t remember their conversation. Every time he tried to recall the play-by-play, it remained elusive, just out of his reach. 

It infuriated Plotz to no end. 

The CEO twiddled his thumbs as he glared down at his desk, the paper in front of him could have caught fire with how much he was burning a metaphorical hole into it, the words unread as he zoned out. Surely the conversation was important in some regard; there was no way it was a mere social visit, Plotz knew his partner didn’t want to be there as much as Plotz didn’t want him to be there either. Personally, he couldn’t wait for this nonsense to be over, for more than one reason. 

He’d gotten rid of the Warner sister, tucked away in the temporary water tower, now all he had to do was get rid of the Warner brother: Yakko. Then Yakko and Dot, the only Warner siblings, would be out of sight and out of mind for **good**. 

Though...why would there be a Warner brother and Warner sister when the studio was named ‘Warner brothers’? It seemed like such a lost opportunity. 

Plotz couldn’t help but sweat at the thought, what if Yakko questioned why he was the only Warner toon? And what if that question made him recall the existence of his sister? A sister he’d often doted on. 

Plotz couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for his associate, even though he was shady and rude; he’d managed to make the older Warner sibling forget entirely about his baby sister, when he’d been drawn to care greatly for her. The two had been inseparable before all of this, and now... 

Well, the more Plotz tried to recall what had occurred the last time Yakko had visited his office, the fuzzier the recollection attempt seemed. Had Yakko brought someone along with him? 

He remembered anger and Yakko being uncharacteristically belligerent, but... 

Plotz could feel a headache coming on. He rubbed at his temples, letting out a pained groan. He was going to need caffeine...and maybe some Tylenol... 

He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk, garnering the attention of his secretary. Her voice sounded a tad distorted over the intercom as she spoke. 

“Do you need something, Sir?” 

Plotz rolled his eyes. _Of course_ he needed something! Why else would he call for her? To talk about the weather? Plan a time to get their nails done? What was wrong with employees these days?! 

“I need you to fetch me coffee and Tylenol.” He tried to suppress his irritation, though he failed miserably. 

“Oh no,” He heard her respond over the comms, “Are you feeling a bit under the weather?” She asked, concern permeated her tone. “Maybe you should take the day off.” 

“I’m not taking the day off.” He managed through gritted teeth. He could feel his blood pressure rising in conjunction with his irritation. “And I’d prefer if you kept such inane comments to yourself.” 

There was a pause. Perhaps he’d been too harsh, she was only doing her job—though meddling in his affairs to that degree was not what he asked her to do. He didn’t feel sorry for how he’d spoken to her. He was the boss; he wasn’t there to apologize to his employees. 

“Of...of course, Mr. Plotz, I’ll get you that coffee and medicine right away.” Her voice had lost its concern, utterly professional once more. 

Plotz let out an annoyed huff as he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he willed his headache away. He couldn’t get anything productive done like this! He was losing out on time and money and that just would **not** fly! 

He didn’t open his eyes as he heard the door ease open, then shut. He had to admit, that was awfully fast. Perhaps his secretary was stepping up her game. It was about time. 

“That’s no way to talk to your secretary.” The man’s voice, even though it was becoming more and more familiar, made Plotz jump. His eyes flew open and he sat rigidly in his plush office chair. 

It was his business associate, smirking at him from the doorway, amusement clear in his gaze at how he’d managed to catch Plotz so off guard. 

Plotz had to tamp down the urge to shout at him for entering without waiting for Plotz’s approval, **again**. This was becoming a theme Plotz wanted no part of. Did this man possess even a shred of manners?! 

Though, how could he expect that from a person willing to do the dirty work in having the _entire globe_ forget some toon kids existed in exchange for some cold, hard cash? 

Plotz refused to count that as valid though. This man still needed to give Plotz his due deference. 

“What are you doing here?” Plotz demanded, keeping his other thoughts to himself, buried deep inside, where they bubbled like they were in a witch’s cauldron. 

“That’s no way to talk to the man who solved part two of your three-part problem.” He retorted. 

This conversation felt eerily familiar. 

_“You look pleased.” The man commented after he’d taken a seat, hands folded together as he regarded Plotz with an amused gleam in his eyes._

_“Do I?” Plotz questioned. “Are you sure you’ve done your job correctly? I still remember both of the Warner brothers.”_

_“Aren’t you forgetting someone? Think long and hard about the Warner siblings.” He retorted, steepling his hands._

Warner.... _brothers_? 

Shit. Shit shit shit. He’d forgotten a brother. Right? But...there was no second Warner brother. There was just Yakko and Dot. The Warner _siblings_. And, after the whole ritual with Dot, the Warner brother. Just Yakko. Surely, he— 

The man whipped out a red cap from, well, Plotz was beyond questioning how this man did anything at this point, and was struck with a migraine _and_ all the memories of the second Warner brother he’d completely forgotten about. 

“ _Wakko_ Warner.” Plotz muttered, watching as the man spun the cap on his index finger. He ran a hand down his face. The conversation he’d had with his associate the day previous came to mind, clear as a bell now. And then the incident with Yakko and Wakko visiting him in his office to demand if they had a sister or not. 

This magic was no joke. 

“Wakko, no longer a Warner.” The man spoke in a droll tone. “Or, not officially a Warner anymore, at least. I don’t pretend to know, nor _care_ how that would work, especially when regarding a _toon_.” Wakko’s beloved red cap flew off his finger, and landed on the ground with a light _thump_. He gave a shrug and added: “Not like he’s going to wear it anytime soon anyway.” 

He wasn’t wrong. 

If Plotz had his way, and it was beginning to look more and more like Plotz’s plan was going to go off without a hitch, then none of the siblings would be around to wear their beloved items anytime soon—or ever—again. 

What would Yakko’s item be? 

The thought came unbidden to Plotz’s mind. Unlike Wakko or Dot, Yakko didn’t really have a clothing item that stuck out. The one Warner without any item donned on their head, or tied around their ears, in Dot’s case. 

No matter. He’d find out soon enough and add it to the collection. If seeing their respective items didn’t bring back memories of them, Plotz would have them mounted and put them on the wall in his home, a constant reminder of the **gremlins** he’d gotten rid of. Even then, comparing the Warners to monstrous creatures from an 80s movie was being needlessly cruel to the creatures in the 80s movie. 

Or was that creepy? 

Not that anyone would be allowed into his home to see said mounted items, but still... Maybe that was crossing the line _just a tad_. 

His associate retrieved the cap and placed it on Plotz’s desk. 

“By now you should know the drill.” He spoke, looking down at Plotz. “Transfer the money to my account and as soon as you do I’ll hunt down the rest of the supplies I need and begin work on getting the third and _final_ ritual in motion. Don’t expect it to be done soon.” 

Plotz nodded, suppressing a mournful sigh for his pocketbook. _It was worth it._ He had to remind himself of that. He was **so close**! Just one more Warner sibling and then he would be free from their tomfoolery for good. 

“I’ll get right on that.” Plotz informed him, utterly serious. 

His associate grinned, showing too much teeth to be considered a pleasant—or even a _normal_ —smile. “It is a pleasure doing business with you, Thaddeus.” With that said, he turned with a flourish, and left Plotz’s office. 

Once more, the CEO was, blissfully, alone. Plotz slumped back in his office chair, feeling like he’d run a marathon when he’d done nothing physical at all. 

The feeling wasn’t mutual.

* * *

Yakko hadn’t gotten any sleep after his rude awakening during the night. 

He wasn’t sure just _what in the hell_ had happened last night, but he wasn’t sure he **wanted** to know either. What kind of weird fan would do that? What kind of person would just... _break into the Warner Brothers water tower_ at midnight and claim to be kin to Yakko Warner?! 

He **had** looked like Yakko to an almost **unnerving** degree, but— 

_Ribbit_

What the hell? 

Yakko’s gaze swept the room until it landed on something very green and **very** out of place. Yakko squinted as he drew closer to the small, green creature. 

When had he gotten a _frog_? **Why** would he get one? 

Yakko could feel a headache coming on as an echo of.... _something_ flitted through his skull. 

_”Pets are expensive and a lot of work.”_ He was certain he had said that at one point in time, but when, and to _whom_? The harder he tried to remember, the more it slipped from his mind. There, but unable to be grasped. 

Yakko stared down at the frog, and the frog stared back. The two remained in a staring match until the frog blinked and let out a slow _ribbit_. 

“Okay, Pal,” Somewhere in the back of his mind the name _Sir Croaks-A-Lot_ supplied itself. What kind of name was that? “you’ve convinced me: you can stay. **But** , if I catch you bringing any girls home...” He faux threatened, a grin forming on his face. He had to admit: the frog was kind of cute. Once again, his mind produced an unbidden thought of a younger boy talking: _”You’re right! Frogs are actually cute!”_ What the hell? Had he talked about frogs decades ago and forgotten? Maybe he did something educational on them back before he was locked away and just didn’t remember? That didn’t sound like something he had done though... 

Either way, maybe a pet wasn’t such a bad idea. He now had a ~~captive~~ audience to listen to his new material, whether it be music, comedy, or a mix of the two. It was hard being a lone toon with the weight of the last name _Warner_ all on his teenage shoulders. 

The frog tilted its head at Yakko like it understood what he’d said; then it hopped off towards the little kitchen area within the water tower. 

Yakko watched for a moment before following the frog, amusement permeated his tone once more as he spoke. “I know it’s morning, but I don’t have any breakfast ready. You’re going to have to wait.” What did frogs eat anyway? Well, what did they eat other than flies? He’d have to figure it out soon enough, he wasn’t going to let the poor thing starve. 

Yakko moved to open the fridge, freezing as his eyes landed upon a piece of ‘art’ stuck on the door via magnet: 

A piece of paper, covered in frog prints of differing colors. The paint seemed only somewhat dry in places. 

What the hell? 

His heart pounded in his chest and his head felt like it was about to split open when he tried to recall when this had happened. He didn’t have a frog until a minute ago. He lived in the tower alone. 

Yakko staggered to his knees as the pain in his skull only intensified tenfold. It felt like someone had taken a metal bat and was actively trying to bash his skull in. 

The only coherent thought Yakko could manage was one he felt was very befitting of the situation: _What the **hell** was going on? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today! Buuuut I may be posting the next chapter tomorrow--if my brain, and schedule, allow!
> 
> Not going to lie, I started calling the tower Dot is in the (TWT) Temporary Water Tower due to a comment from Pad23.
> 
> And your (hopefully) fave frog Sir Croaks-A-Lot LIVES! 🐸👑🎉
> 
> If you're worried about the lack of sibling content, never fear! It will appear! 😄
> 
> One of these days I'm gonna commission the scene between Yakko and Sir Croaks-A-Lot and it will be glorious. 😎😄
> 
> I loved the predictions I had in the comments regarding Yakko and Sir Croaks-A-Lot and the nebulous future! I didn't want to confirm or deny to spoil anything, but I loved reading them! 💖💖💖💖
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> 💖😄Your kudos and comments give me life!😄💖


	8. Who Could it be Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotz gets things back on track, Yakko muses over earlier events, and Wakko tries to find his supposed sister.

Now that Plotz’s associate was gone, Plotz could finally breathe again. 

That man just made him so _uneasy_ , like there was just something inherently **wrong** about him. 

Though, in the grand scheme of things, did that mean there was something inherently wrong with _Plotz_ for seeking his help? Thaddeus Plotz refused to entertain **that** thought any further. There was nothing wrong with getting rid of a _pest problem_ , and that was what the Warners were at the end of the day: bonafide **pests**. 

Plotz’s gaze landed once more on Wakko’s iconic red cap, sitting on the middle of his fancy mahogany desk. As much as Wakko had to have put the cap through with his daily antics, it looked well taken care of. It was obvious Wakko tried to keep it from getting too dirty or damaged. Perhaps there was some sense of responsibility in that child—not enough for Plotz to doubt his decision to get rid of him, or his siblings, no, not even close. 

Instead of lingering on such thoughts regarding the intracies of the Warners minds, he decided to focus on _much more important matters_ like: Where would Plotz hide this hat? It wasn’t small, like Dot’s flower, which had been shoved into a desk drawer with ease; he supposed he could tuck it away in one of the filing cabinets. Anyone with common sense knew better than to touch anything in Plotz’s office, and that would allow him to keep a close eye on the item, not to mention he could lock the drawer to said filing cabinet and only Plotz had the key. 

That answered that. Both items would still be within easy reach if Plotz needed to move them. For a moment he debated on placing the flower scrunchie and the red cap in the same drawer together, but after a moment, he decided against it. 

If someone happened to stumble across the flower scrunchie in his desk drawer, or the red cap in the filing cabinet, then only one sibling would be remembered whereas both would be remembered in tandem if they stumbled across the filing cabinet drawer and spotted both the flower scrunchie and the red cap. Damage control would be easier if he only had to explain memories of one Warner sibling resurfacing in full force instead of two. 

He hoped and prayed he never had to explain such a situation at all. 

Plotz picked up the red hat, giving it a more thorough look; the CEO paused when he flipped the cap over, looking into the inside of the cap itself. 

There were two things stored within the cap. The first being a rather large piece of candy that had been shoddily taped inside the cap, likely being saved for a later date. The other item made Plotz actually take a moment to reconsider if the Warners were capable of actually feeling _positive_ emotions towards others: 

Sewn into the cap itself, with obvious time and care, was a Polaroid picture of the three Warner siblings together. From the position, Yakko was holding the camera up, angling it down towards the three Warner siblings with one hand, his free arm wrapped around his younger siblings as they returned the hug and all three of them beamed up at the camera, looking genuinely happy. He didn’t know where they were given that the Warners took up most of the space in the picture itself, revealing little of the background, but he’d never seen the children smiling without mischief in their eyes like they were in this photograph. 

For a moment, Plotz was struck with two _very conflicting_ ideals. 

Plotz had never really thought of the Warners as capable of thinking and feeling like he, or humans in general, did. He assumed they lived only to torture those around them, incapable of sympathy, empathy, or even remorse. He truly believed they had no sense of honor, had no care for anyone other than their own selves. Hell, he figured that their whole ‘sibling bond’ was just a front, something that had been _loosely_ drawn into their toon DNA to keep them banded together instead of going their separate ways. But now? A child who took the time to either sew the picture in his beloved cap himself, or have someone else do it, and keep it from being a well-known fact, was obviously capable of feeling more than just an appetite for destruction. Did this transcend to the other Warner siblings as well? 

Though, that brought Plotz to his second question, a much more pressing question: why was _Dot Warner_ still in this picture? 

Wasn’t she gone and forgotten? Why was she still in this photo?! 

Plotz couldn’t believe it, but he wished his associate was still there in his office with him. He **had** to know why this still existed. Cold sweat ran down Plotz’s back as his heart rate and blood pressure rose in conjunction. His hands shook as he clutched the red cap in between them; Plotz stood and hurried over to his filing cabinet where he yanked the lowest drawer open and shoved Wakko’s cap inside. He kicked it shut with a resounding **clang** before he returned to his desk, pulled opened the same drawer that held Dot’s flower scrunchie, the filing cabinet key resting innocently beside the yellow flower. He snatched the key, locked the filing cabinet drawer, then threw the key back into the drawer, before he flung the desk drawer shut with finality. 

Plotz drew in a deep, calming breath. 

Okay, _now_ he needed to get his head on straight. Plotz could deal with, he gave a furtive glance towards where Wakko’s cap now lay, _that_ later. For now? He needed to get back on the ball, prevent Wakko from causing any problems even though everyone had forgotten him. It had gotten much too close with Dot, and he didn’t need a repeat of Yakko Warner storming into his office, demanding to know who Dot was and what she was doing in their water tower. 

Though...maybe that would calm down now that Yakko had no siblings to ‘care about’ or ‘look after’. Plotz wasn’t certain. 

It felt like he was stuck between two worlds, one where all three Warners existed and were well-known—for good or ill—and the one where, now, only Yakko technically was a Warner. How had that affected everything? And how hard would it be for Plotz to keep up appearances, like he was on the same page as everybody else? 

He supposed it would get easier once there were no Warner toons skittering about, causing chaos for no reason. 

Plotz pulled a handkerchief from the inner pocket on his jacket and wiped the sweat from his brow before shoving it back into its spot. 

One problem at a time. 

Plotz pressed the intercom button to get the attention of his secretary. 

“Do you need something, Mr. Plotz?” His secretary responded within three seconds—she should have responded much quicker, this was important—sounding a bit distracted. 

“I need you to send Ralph up ASAP.” He stated, no room for questions or arguments. 

“Of course, right away, Sir.” She responded, though bewilderment permeated her tone. It was none of her business, and she was beneath this entire endeavor, so Plotz didn’t bother to explain further. 

Now, he waited.

* * *

Yakko gripped a glass of water so tight in his left hand it was a miracle he hadn’t shattered the cup. 

He had moved from his spot in front of the fridge, but not by much; now, he sat at the table, staring holes into the ‘painting’ done by the frog that sat atop the table, staring down at his own artwork alongside Yakko. 

Yakko’s headache ebbed and flowed. Just _staring_ at the artwork didn’t cause much pain, in its stead, Yakko was left with bewilderment. The real pounding in Yakko’s skull didn’t start until he tried to figure out when the artwork had been made and _who_ had lent the frog next to him a helping hand. The more Yakko tried to recall the events of the past few days—hell, the past **week** —the more it felt like Yakko needed to lay down in a ditch because his brain was going to **explode**. 

Yakko’s gaze shifted to the frog, _Sir Croaks-A-Lot_ , he internally amended. “You’re not secretly a _toon_ , are you?” He whispered. 

The frog, in turn, looked up at him, but didn’t respond in the slightest. 

Yakko let out a soft sigh. “Of course not. That would be too easy, would make too much _sense_.” 

Sir Croaks-A-Lot padded over a few steps, before smacking a webbed foot atop Yakko’s gloved hand. 

Yakko snorted. “Who knew emotional support frogs were a thing, but here you are.” His expression darkened for a moment, “Where were you all those years ago when I was locked in this tower by myself?” 

Sir Croaks-A-Lot blinked, but offered nothing else in response. 

As quickly as the dark expression appeared, it was gone from Yakko’s face. 

Yakko let go of the glass of water, not wanting to move the hand that Sir Croaks-A-Lot still had his own webbed foot atop, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was internally thankful that he had the pet next to him, it allowed Yakko to bounce his thoughts and ideas off of without feeling like he was losing his sanity; it would have felt too reminiscent of when he was locked all **alone** in the water tower, even though _now_ he could come and go as he pleased. 

Scarring events weren’t shrugged off with ease, no matter what lies he told the studio. 

“So,” Yakko spoke up, less to the frog and more because it seemed easier to organize his thoughts when he said them aloud. “Lets get this timeline at least a liiittle straighter.” He had to resist the urge to steeple his fingers, still not wanting to disrupt the frog. “Some toon that looks _almost exactly like me_ appears in the water tower in the middle of the night claiming to be related to me.” 

A brother. Claimed to be his younger brother. 

The younger toon had looked so caught off guard, so... **lost** when he had tried to convince Yakko they were related. 

_"I...I'm your brother. **Wakko**.”_

Wakko. What a poor choice in name, if Yakko had anything to say about it. It was too close to _Yakko_ , and therefore it wasn’t very original and—while Yakko’s name explained his own personality, or at least how he had been drawn initially—the kid hadn’t looked very ‘wacky’. He’d been rather quiet, almost withdrawn. The opposite of what his name was trying to imply. 

That settled it then, right? That kid was a toon who was simply trying to ride Yakko’s coattails. The kid had come up with a fake name and hoped that their similar appearance and an even more similar sounding name would be enough to fool Yakko Warner into believing he’d gained a brother without warning or preamble. 

_Nice try, Kid._ The thought flitted through Yakko’s skull. “Sorry, Pal,” Yakko moved his hand and Sir Croaks-A-Lot pulled his webbed foot back, smacking it on the table twice as if irritated by losing his resting spot. “But with the way today is panning out, I’m going to need a whole **pot** of coffee.” 

Maybe the frog belonged to the kid. It wouldn’t have surprised Yakko, the two had appeared within a short time frame. And perhaps the kid had brought the painting his frog had done with him and planted it on the fridge to try and, what exactly, use it to his advantage somehow? How in the world would that have worked? It was beyond Yakko, but then again, Yakko never would have lied and tried to convince another toon he some random toon’s _sibling_ either. 

Just another asshole trying to take advantage of someone who’d worked their hands to the bone to claw their way to the top. 

The only Warner toon let out a strangled yelp as it felt like someone had pierced his skull with an ice pick as he recalled a hazy memory: 

_A young toon, smaller and with their fur styled a different way than the toon who’d snuck in the water tower had been, donning a pink skirt and yellow flower around her ears, rolled her eyes as she fluffed the fur around her face with a dramatic—and gloved—flip of her hand. “Boys,” She drolled on, “go fig.”_

What the _hell_ was that?! What in the world was going on?! 

First, he swore he’d been forced to remember himself giving a short lecture on pet ownership and now he was recalling **another** toon that looked similar to himself, similar to the toon from last night, what was next? Was she going to come waltzing in and claim she was related to him as well?! 

How utterly preposterous. 

Now he was going to need **two pots** of coffee.

* * *

Ralph stood in front of Plotz’s desk, the picture of a child who was afraid they were going to get scolded by their parent. It would have been humorous to Plotz, if almost that exact scenario didn’t play out between them so often. Plotz often spent his valuable time shouting at Ralph until the guard’s ears rang, and it felt like Plotz was going to lose his voice. 

While Ralph had completed one job correctly, capturing Dot, he still didn’t see the point in praising the security guard for _doing his job_. Now, Ralph needed to do this job with equal success, or Plotz was certain he would burst a blood vessel. 

“Did you, uh, call for me?” Ralph questioned, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

Plotz steepled his fingers, flashing a devious smile as he nodded. “I’m not going to waste your time, Ralph,” Or—more importantly—his **own** time. “but I’ve caught word of there being a menace on the property.” 

“A menace...?” Ralph questioned; confusion emanated from the guard in waves. 

“A _menace_.” Plotz confirmed, giving another slow nod. 

Ralph just stared at him, uncomprehending. 

Plotz suppressed an aggravated sigh before he clarified through gritted teeth. “I need you to _catch_ them.” 

“Catch them?” Ralph repeated. “Just like that other toon?” 

Ah. **Finally**. Ralph was getting to the same page. It only took him _forever_. 

“Yes. Just like that ‘other toon’.” Plotz confirmed. He supposed, even with Wakko now forgotten, Dot was a different entity entirely and therefore Ralph remembered catching her—even if he couldn’t recall just **who** she was. 

Ralph seemed to wilt at that. He’d been hoping after catching the toon with the pink skirt that he’d be able to go back to normal guard duties: sitting in the guard shack and listening to his baseball games. That, he now realized, was not the case. 

But maybe, after he caught this toon, things _would_ return to that level of normalcy. He had to hope, at the very least, that it would be the case. 

“What, uh, what do they look like?” He questioned. 

Ah. Plotz had almost forgotten. He couldn’t just shout: Capture Wakko Warner! And expect Ralph to know just who he was talking about. He had to explain it now. 

“Red ca—” Plotz caught himself, gaze flicking once more to the filing cabinet drawer where Wakko’s hat was locked away. No. No red cap. Not anymore. “Excuse me,” He smoothed a few invisible wrinkles from his shirt and cleared his throat. “Black and white fur, baby blue sweater.” 

“Black and white fur, baby blue sweater.” Ralph repeated. “I won’t let you down!” The guard turned on his heel and hurried out of Plotz’s office. 

Plotz highly doubted that, but he hoped Ralph wasn’t wrong. 

The CEO pushed away from his desk, sliding off of his chair. While Ralph was busy hunting down the middle Warner child, Plotz was going to pay a certain Warner a visit. 

Call it, _making sure Ralph had done his job and done it as specified_.

* * *

Wakko trundled around the Warner Brothers property. He wasn’t sure just _where_ the toon he sought would be hiding—if she was even still on the Warner Brothers grounds. 

But, if what she said was true, she wouldn’t have anywhere else to go, so wouldn’t it be logical to _stay_ on the grounds? 

All Wakko could do now was hope he stumbled across her, or that she made her presence known in some shape, form, or fashion that managed to get his attention. 

Wakko felt guilty at the sendoff they had given her, even though neither of them had known this was a _whole thing_. If, and Wakko still wasn’t one hundred percent certain, she had gone through the same exact thing Wakko was now going through. It was too similar to be a coincidence, so Wakko had to admit it was the most likely scenario. 

It still felt weird to think he had a sister though. He didn’t think it would be possible to forget something like _that_. 

He hadn’t thought Yakko would forget _him_ either, though. 

How was he supposed to fix this? Was this something that was even capable of _being fixed_? Wakko lifted a gloved hand, scowling as he reached for the cap that **wasn’t** there. He felt naked without it, quite the statement seeing as he was still donning his sweater. His cowlick—or was it a furlick—was prominent without his cap to help hide it to a degree. 

This just wasn’t fair. 

Wakko let out an annoyed huff. He might as well start doing a loop around the studio; his luck would have to improve eventually, wouldn’t it? It _owed_ him after the whole _Yakko forgetting him_ thing and the _disappearing cap_ debacle. 

Wakko trudged off towards the back of the lot. The less people who saw him without his cap, the better.

* * *

Plotz loathed wasting his valuable time moving about the studio lots himself. This was the work of underlings, well, any other job that needed to be done on the lot was the job of his underlings. _This_ , particular endeavor, was reserved for himself. 

He was beginning to regret housing this project in the furthest corner of the Warner Brothers lots. 

Thankfully there were carts on the grounds and, much to the chagrin of the employee who had been using it before him, he outranked everyone else on the lot and could use whichever cart he wanted. 

He just wanted the cart that was easiest to get his hands on. 

What was the point of being the CEO if he didn’t do what he wanted, _when_ he wanted? And, hell, if someone tried to stop him, he could have them _forgotten_ as well, right? The CEO grinned as he came to a stop in front of lot 67. 

Oh, things were looking up for Plotz. There was a certain pep in his step as he approached the door to the studio. 

As long as Plotz’s pocketbook allowed, why couldn’t he start getting rid of anyone and everyone who crossed him? With them forgotten by _everyone_ , no one would be able to figure out it was his fault they were no longer remembered. 

The Warners, as annoying as they were, were small game compared to who he could have forgotten after they were gone. Actors, producers, _other CEOs_ , anyone and everyone was soon going to be fair game for Plotz’s wrath. 

Oh, what a _wonderful_ world it would be when Plotz got to weed out those he loathed and despised. 

For now? He would be content with gloating his genius to the youngest Warner siblings. 

The door was a pain to open, but Plotz hoped that would only deter others from entering the abandoned studio. They didn’t have a reason to enter it normally, but who knew with people nowadays? You couldn’t trust anybody. 

Plotz shoved the door shut behind him after flicking on the lights. The bulbs buzzed and flickered multiple times before staying lit. When was the last time anyone had used this studio for a production? At least a decade, if Plotz had to guess. With the way it looked now, there was no way he was going to waste the money on redoing this studio. Let it _rot_ for all he cared. 

Well, he didn’t want it to rot _just yet_ , not until he was done using it to house this fake water tower. 

As he approached the temporary water tower, he heard a shuffling sound from inside the tower itself. Dot had likely heard his approach. 

“Don’t get up on my account,” He began, “it’s not like I can see you doing so anyway.” 

Dot could hear the _smirk_ in his tone from her spot within the makeshift prison. 

For a moment she’d hoped beyond logical reasoning that it had been some employee of Warner Brothers studios that had stumbled across the lot and that she’d be able to use her charm to get them to let her out. They didn’t have to see how cute she was to know she was cute, it was a thing she couldn’t hide, after all. 

But no. It was **Plotz**. 

“You might as well head back the way you came. I’m not going to entertain you.” She retorted, venom dripping from her tone. 

At that, Plotz laughed, loud and raucous. “Don’t flatter yourself. You were never entertaining. The only thing amusing about all of this is that you are trapped in here and still somehow think you’re going to be able to win at the end of all of this.” 

“If you really think this thing will hold me forever, you’re more idiotic than you look.” 

Plotz scowled at the tower as if Dot would somehow be able to see the look. “You’re mistaken,” He began to bluff, “it doesn’t have to hold you _forever_ , just until my _permanent solution_ arrives.” 

Dot was silent. What kind of ‘permanent solution’ had he come up with? 

Before this whole fiasco, Dot never would have suspected Plotz would do something like _this_ , but now? She wasn’t entirely sure what lengths he was willing to go to in his drive to get rid of them. Dread made her go cold and numb, she balled her fists and glared at the tower wall as if Plotz would be able to feel its intensity through the steel that separated them. 

“You’re all bark and no bite.” 

“Funny, coming from a creature that resembles a **dog** but doesn’t have the decency to _know its place_.” Plotz glanced down to his wristwatch, had that much time already passed? Time flew when he was gloating! “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this meeting short—” 

“Oh no, whatever shall I do when I won’t have to hear your grating voice anymore?” 

“—but never fear, one of your brothers will be joining you shortly to keep you company.” 

There was a beat of silence, then: “ **Plotz** , I am going to _**kill**_ you.” 

Plotz snorted at that, turning on his heel and striding out. There was no sense in trading anymore petty blows with a _child_ when he knew he was in control of the situation. 

Wakko came to a halt as he watched Plotz stride his way to one of the studio owned carts. The CEO looked oddly _triumphant_? Or, at the very least, pleased with himself. 

Why was _Plotz_ leaving a studio lot? He never went out and about on the lot! He’d always made it clear that he was above scurrying around on the lot itself—unless someone famous, or an individual flush with cash asked him to do just that. 

Wakko furrowed his brow and, for the first time in his life, actually headed _towards_ Plotz—or at least, in the direction he had come from. 

There wasn’t much to look at, in fact, there was only one thing of note in the vicinity: a studio that looked decrepit. Well past its prime. It wouldn’t have surprised Wakko if Plotz was just waiting for the lot to fall apart, figuring demolition would be faster and cheaper than giving it the structural repairs it obviously needed. 

That just begged the question once more: Why would Plotz go in and out of that studio of his own volition? 

Wakko waited a minute longer, ears perked as he listened for Plotz’s return. Hearing nothing, Wakko padded towards the door. 

He didn’t hesitate as he wrenched open the door, which groaned on its rusted hinges; the middle Warner wasn’t afraid of anything, he’d already been forgotten and kicked out by his older brother, there was nothing scarier than that. 

It took Wakko’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the distinct lack of lighting in the skeletal remains of the studio. 

Scratch what he’d thought a moment earlier, there _was_ something scarier than that: 

A smaller version of the water tower, more minimalist in nature and _far_ from the eyes of visitors and workers alike. 

It wasn’t painted in the vibrant colors like the one Wakko had once resided in, there were no ‘WB’ initials on it either. It was just metal. Harsh, _cold_ steel. 

Why would Plotz have this? 

Did he have this _constructed_? And, if so, that just returned to the question of _why_? 

Wakko backed up a step, fear and unease trailed up and down his spine. He was a ball of fluffed fur at this moment in time, tail swishing erratically. 

He could stomach living in the water tower, the **actual** water tower, because he and Yakko had made it a _home_ , but this? This was a metal mockery. It screamed _prison_ , and it took everything in Wakko to stay there instead of turning on his heel and **bolting**. 

Though... There was no reason to stay. He could turn around and run and no one would be the wiser, no one could call him a coward ~~and the tower wouldn’t somehow _grab_ him and never let him escape, succeeding where the other water tower had failed~~. 

Wakko took another _shaky_ step back, a hair’s breadth from turning and running away, but before he could there was a terrifying and resonating _**BANG**_ from within the metal tomb that was the mimicry of the Warner Brothers water tower. 

Wakko hesitated for a moment, fear turning his veins into icicles, before he forced himself to take a step _towards_ the tower. 

Whoever or whatever in the tower obviously didn’t want to be there, and he wasn’t just going to turn a blind eye. 

Wakko’s hand shook as he moved to pull the lever to the locking mechanism on the door to the water tower. Whatever was inside, it was obvious Plotz _never_ wanted them to get out. 

He stepped back as the door swung open at a snail’s pace, only serving to build the tension, sending the younger Warner brother’s heartrate skyrocketing. 

Wakko Warner let out a shocked gasp when he spotted who was inside. 

“It’s you.” It was the only coherent thought that came to Wakko's mind.

“It’s me.” She responded, exhaustion and relief permeated her tone in equal measure. She took a moment to dust off her skirt before she looked back up at him. “Do you believe me _now_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think with how much I write about Plotz in this fic I would be a secret Plotz stan or something, but in all actuality, I wanna fight him in a Denny's parking lot at 3 am. 
> 
> If you have questions regarding how a 'life without siblings' has affected Yakko, never fear, there will be more regarding that in upcoming chapters! 😄
> 
> While we're at it! I am taking bets (unofficially, officially) on what everyone thinks Yakko Warner's 'item' would be! The item that would go alongside Dot's flower scrunchie and Wakko's cap. There's nothing to win, but I genuinely am curious as to what y'all expect it to be! 
> 
> I hope that everyone is staying safe and warm this winter! If you live in a part of the world where it is currently summer, I hope you are staying safe and cool! 😄💖
> 
> 💖😄Thank you for reading! Your kudos and comments make my day! 😄💖


	9. Putting the Pieces Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakko and Dot reconnect, Yakko and Sir Croaks-A-Lot hang out. Plotz's business associate decides to make his presence more widely known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you happened to read this chapter when it originally came out on 02/23/21, some major changes have been made to the chapter. Explanation in the end notes.

Plotz had to know. 

He’d spent all day and all night pondering over just _how_ this was possible. 

The photograph, sewn into Wakko’s hat, was driving the CEO _crazy_. If **everyone** had supposedly forgotten about them, shouldn’t the photograph **not** have Dot in it, at the very least? And by then....Wakko had been forgotten, which is why Plotz had his red cap in the first place. So, should the photo even exist at all? His cap still existed, but Plotz didn’t think that would transfer to the photograph itself. 

Plotz had half a mind to yank the cap from where it was locked away and ripping up the photograph so no one else could ever see it. 

Then again...the whole point of Plotz _locking the cap up_ was so that no one would ever see it again. 

Plotz pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at the sweat that was beginning to bead up on his forehead. He just...needed to calm down and—his eyes darted towards the phone on his desk—though, maybe he did have someone he could ask about all of this. 

The man was an absolute _asshole_ , but how else was Plotz supposed to get to the bottom of this? 

Plotz picked up the receiver, dialing the same number he had that ended up setting this whole plan in motion. 

The phone rang twice, Plotz didn’t even bother with pleasantries before he spoke up. “We need to talk. Come to my office. Now.”

* * *

Dot smirked at her older brother, though there was a part of her that wanted to throw her arms around him in the _biggest_ hug. Nothing like facing the possibility of another sixty years in a makeshift water tower to make her thankful to see her brother again—even if he didn't recognize her, which, from the way he regarded her, he _still_ didn't. 

After a moment Dot’s brows furrowed as she regarded her older brother. “Wait a second... Where’s your hat?” What had happened while she’d been locked away? How long had she been separated from the outside world? Had Wakko decided he wasn’t a ‘hat guy’ anymore? Surely this was some kind of prank... 

Wakko's gaze darted from the toon in front of him to the makeshift water tower just beyond her. Instead of answering her, he pointed a gloved finger towards the tower. "How long were you in there, and why?" 

Dot glanced back towards the tower, and gave a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she hadn't been trying her damnedest to break out of it mere minutes earlier. "Oh, you know, just like the first time we were trapped in a water tower it's _impossible_ to guesstimate the passage of time. Well, up until you—" 

"Pulled out a clock from my gag bag." Wakko responded without thinking or hesitation. He could remember his time spent locked in that _prison_ like it was yesterday. Always hanging around the corners of his mind in a pervasive manner. 

"—pulled out a clock from your gag bag." Dot finished. 

They both spoke at the same time, and Wakko froze, while Dot looked unsurprised. Wakko hadn't **ever** spoken of the minor details about his time spent locked away in the tower. Not to Scratchy, and there was never a need to speak about anything about it with Yakko—his older brother had lived through that hell alongside Wakko. Why bring up lingering trauma? Especially when Yakko seemed so eager to cover up any unease with a bright, fake smile and a litany of bad jokes. 

It only lent to the validity of her earlier claims of being related to him. But how was this possible? Before Wakko could contemplate it further, Dot spoke up to answer his earlier question. 

"As for who, I'll give you a hint: Starts with a 'P' and ends with a 'lotzy'." 

"Plotz built that?" Wakko gestured to the water tower wannabe. 

"Himself? Of course not. Had someone else do it? Without a doubt." 

"But, why? And how did any of this," Wakko gestured to the tower, then to Dot, "happen?" 

"He's stepped up his game, finally grew a brain and got creative," Dot couldn't manage to complete the sentence with a straight face. "Or, he got some help." 

Wakko mulled it over. Who would be willing to help Plotz with something like this and succeed to such a _terrifying_ degree? 

"And let me guess:" Dot placed a hand on her hip, a knowing, and mournful, expression on her face. "You got the axe too. Our dear big brother Yakko forgot you as well, right?" 

"How did you know?" Wakko asked, caught off guard by how the sad look in her expression sent a pang of upset through his chest. 

"Our brother is a lot of things, but he usually isn't far behind where we are. And yet, he hasn't strode in here, throwing out some big words while he's at it." 

"He thought I was a stranger trying to worm my way into the family." Wakko looked down at his feet, his tone utterly heartbroken. 

"Sounds familiar." Dot deadpanned. 

"I'm sorry." Wakko murmured, looking back up at Dot, his tone sincere. "How was I supposed to know it was the truth?" 

"Because I look **exactly** like you!" Dot retorted, then added: "Well, _almost_. I'm **much** cuter." 

Wakko rolled his eyes. Though, this back and forth between them felt...normal, _right_ even. It felt like it was something he hadn't realized was missing until now. "You're full of it." 

"Good looks? Intellect? Charm? You know it!" She posed dramatically, to which Wakko facepalmed. 

"You sound exactly like Yakko." 

"You used to say that a lot, you know." For a moment there was something borderline _vulnerable_ in Dot's tone, though she was swift to cover it up with a boastful grin. "Of course, that said, Yakko has nothing on how cute I am." 

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a sister. She didn't seem too bad. A little vain, a lot aggressive, but not bad. "You know, I believe you." 

Dot blinked; the boastful grin fizzled out for a moment before a bright, genuine smile replaced it. "I knew you'd see the light... _eventually_." 

Wakko snorted. The jab seemed good-natured so he let it slide. He had a more pressing question for his 'sister' anyway. "Why did Plotz lock you up?" 

All the mirth in Dot's gaze was snuffed out at that question, replaced by rage. "He said he was going to keep me there until he came up with a 'permanent solution' for me." She crossed her arms, glaring down at the ground. Showing any signs of the terror she'd felt deep down inside at Plotz's threats was _not_ an option, not even in front of her **brother**. She was a strong lady, strong in **all** connotations of the word. 

Curiously, the thought of the toon in front of Wakko disappearing **forever** awakened an enraged, protective impulse a mile wide. 

Where the hell had _that_ come from? And why? If she was right, and Wakko was beginning to genuinely believe her, he didn't remember her, so why did the thought of Plotz getting rid of her permanently enrage **and** terrify him? 

Wakko hesitated for a moment before patting Dot on the shoulder, albeit a tad awkward. "Don't worry. Nothing bad is going to happen to you." 

Dot studied Wakko's face for a moment, before deciding he was being serious, and in turn she offered a slight smile. "Of course not. With the two of us working together, Plotzy doesn't stand a chance and we'll get this solved in no time flat." 

The two younger Warners grinned at one another, only to have such joyful expressions wiped away as they heard the doorknob leading into the studio begin to turn. 

Without hesitation or a second thought, Wakko grabbed Dot's hand and the two sprinted towards the back of the water tower mimicry, intent on hiding behind it—no way would they ever intentionally hide _in_ it. 

The door screeched open on rusty hinges, lumbering footsteps replaced the shrill noise moments later. 

Wakko and Dot huddled behind the tower, waiting with bated breath, clinging to each other as if it would somehow protect the other from detection or harm. 

The heavy-set footsteps drew closer and closer. 

Now they were a mere foot or so away from the front of the fake water tower. 

“I don’t think this is supposed to be open…” The younger Warner siblings recognized the slow gaited speech in an instant: _Ralph_. The security guard scratched his scalp as he looked at the open door to the makeshift water tower. The Warners had been so caught up in hiding they had forgotten to cover their tracks and shut the door to make everything seem undisturbed. 

Wakko and Dot glanced to one another and began to move the opposite direction that Ralph was walking in, around the tower, as if that would allow him to find the toon that had escaped the tower—for once, his idea wasn’t hilariously off-base, much to the chagrin of the two Warner siblings. 

The two Warner siblings kept backing up around the outer perimeter of the temporary water tower as Ralph continued forward. 

As Wakko went to take another step back, his foot hit one of the supporting legs of the water tower, the resounding vibration of metal only alerted Ralph to the fact that _he wasn’t alone_. The guard picked up the pace, running towards the sound. 

Dot glared at Wakko, who only offered an apologetic grin and a shrug, before they both turned around and sprinted towards the door that led out of the studio. 

Just as Wakko’s hand reached for the doorknob, Ralph caught sight of the two toons. 

“Stop right there!” He called out, then, too softly for them to hear, “I don’t like all of this running...” 

“Does anyone ever listen to that, Ralph?” Dot called out as Wakko opened the door and the two of them sped off. 

Ralph hurried after them without comment. Talking only wasted his energy, and he knew he would need it to keep pace and be able to capture at least _one_ of the toons again. 

As he ran, Ralph couldn’t help but feel intense dread at the situation at hand: Plotz was **not** going to be pleased with him.

* * *

Yakko was beginning to realize that, perhaps, he needed to step outside and get _something_ for his new, accidentally obtained, pet to eat, _and_ some sort of enclosure for him to sleep in. The last thing the Warner toon wanted was to step on the frog by mistake when he got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. 

He’d already read the paper and consumed two _pots_ of coffee, and was now ready to face the day. 

Yakko looked down at the frog, who sat upon the table at which Yakko was seated at, and smiled. “Whaddaya say?” He began, making his voice as dramatic and grandiose as possible, “Why don’t we have a ‘guy’s day out’? You know, do all the usual things guys do: go clothes shopping, get our nails done, maybe buy you a little frog enclosure, and heck, why not get some food while we’re at it?” 

Sir Croaks-A-Lot tilted his head to the side as Yakko spoke, not ribbiting until after the Warner had finished speaking like he had been waiting his turn. 

“Great!” Yakko took the ribbit as affirmation, sliding the chair back and standing before he picked the frog in question up with the utmost care. He started to head towards the water tower door, “Now, I know pockets aren’t the most _comfortable_ places to ride in, but I need you to stay in my pocket while I climb down the ladder. After that? Well, I can carry you, or we can figure something out.” 

Sir Croaks-A-Lot gave a low warbling noise as Yakko placed the frog in his pocket. The green amphibian did not try to jump out, much to the toon’s utter relief. 

As soon as Yakko’s feet touched the ground the frog scrambled to get out of Yakko’s pants pocket, landing on the concrete below with ease. It slowly turned on webbed feet to face the toon once more, expectant. 

“Want me to carry you, Bud?” Yakko asked, holding out his cupped hands towards the frog. 

Sir Croaks-A-Lot hopped away from Yakko as if in reply. Yakko gave a slight shrug, unbothered, and started to head off towards the direction of the way off of the Warner Brothers studio lot. Sir Croaks-A-Lot followed the Warner without hesitation.

* * *

Plotz had stared at the clock on his wall from the very moment he had hung up. His fingers drummed atop his desk in an open display of his impatience and irritation. What part of _now_ did the man not understand? 

Oh sure, he could waltz in unannounced whenever it suited him, but as soon as Plotz needed answers, he took his sweet time, not caring just how close to his wits end that the CEO was. Did this man not realize who he was messing with? Plotz was an important man! He was the damned CEO of Warner Brothers studio for crying out loud! 

Plotz stopped his drumming long enough to press the intercom button to speak to his secretary, “Do I have any visitors?” He questioned, frustration dripping from his tone. 

After a short pause the secretary spoke up, sounding just a tad harried. “No, Mr. Plotz, Sir. Who are you expecting? I’ll try and call them, see if they are falling behind schedule.” Plotz could hear her flipping through a few papers as she spoke, most likely checking his schedule to figure out just who Plotz was expecting and why. 

Aggravation flared through Plotz at her response. He _still_ wasn’t here? It had already been half an hour! This was ridiculous! “That won’t be necessary. Just tell me when my visitor arrives.” 

“Alright, Sir...?” There was the obvious unspoken question of: _who is this visitor going to be, exactly?_ , but she didn’t put a voice to it. She had learned over the years that when Plotz was in a mood like this, it was best to be as polite and to-the-point as possible. 

Plotz rolled his eyes at the response. He wanted nothing more than to throttle his associate, or to force his hand into finishing all of _this_ earlier than planned and adding Yakko to the mix of forgotten Warners alongside his annoying, and utterly dreadful, siblings. 

Ultimately it was another _half an hour_ before Plotz’s associate arrived. 

Plotz’s secretary didn’t even have time to let Plotz know of his arrival before he’d already flung open the doors, looking as annoyed as Plotz felt. 

“You know, I thought a man in your position would possess better ‘people skills’.” The man didn’t offer any sort of pleasantries. 

Plotz watched his associate approach him from where Plotz sat at his desk, fingers slotted neatly together. “I could say the same for you. I called you over an **hour** ago.” 

“I was busy. You want results, correct? You demand that your ‘little problems’ be taken care of as soon as possible, and yet you do not possess a **shred** of patience.” The associate retorted, taking a seat in the chair in front of Plotz’s desk. “If you called to demand what is taking me so long, just know that every minute we waste here, is time I cannot spend attending to your demands.” 

Plotz repressed the urge to snap back at him. He was paying for expedient results! This man was practically bleeding his bank account _dry_. Instead, Plotz straightened his shoulders, drawing in a deep breath. 

“I think your ‘magic’ is faulty.” 

Now _this_ drew his associate’s attention. The man let out a bark of surprised laughter. He straightened in the chair, looking at Plotz with a gaze that held an almost dangerous glint. “I make the **world** forget two out of the three Warner children, as you _demanded_ and you have the **audacity** to say my magic is faulty?” He shook his head. “Explain before I decide to turn my magic onto you.” 

Plotz’s eyes narrowed. “I highly doubt you can. You don’t have all of your ‘ingredients’ together yet, remember?” 

The two of them stared at one another in a charged silence, until Plotz finally broke it. 

“I have evidence.” 

“Please,” The man spoke in such a condescending tone it made Plotz grind his teeth together to prevent himself from losing his temper then and there. “Show me the proof.” 

Plotz pulled the key from its drawer, sparing a glance to Dot’s flower scrunchie just to confirm it was still there and still untouched. He moved to his filing cabinet and unlocked it, retrieving Wakko’s beloved red cap from the drawer. 

Plotz’s associate opened his mouth to speak, to offer some sarcastic quip, but Plotz flipped the cap over and revealed the photograph. 

“If Dot Warner was forgotten first, why is she still in this picture?” Plotz questioned, not waiting for the man to respond on he continued, more emphatic. “And why is Yakko Warner demanding to know if he has a possible sister?” Was that still relevant in this timeline? Yakko and Wakko coming into his office to demand just who Dot was and why she was there still fresh in his mind. Plotz wanted to know, but didn’t want to reveal anything to the last remaining Warner trying to glean anything. Of course, Plotz refused to state this was likely no longer an issue, would Yakko remember it, seeing as he no longer remembered Wakko and had the younger brother in tow while he’d strode into Plotz’s office like he owned the place? 

His associate took the cap with careful hands, looking over the photograph. He trailed a long index finger around the edges. All his fire and indignation had been snuffed out, he rested heavily in the chair. 

“You say Yakko Warner is demanding to know about his sister?” He echoed. 

Plotz nodded. It technically wasn’t a lie. Just not the _whole_ truth either. 

“Hmm.” The man was still for just a moment, before he ripped the photograph from its stitching, taking a moment to examine the picture. “How quaint.” Without warning, the man lit the photograph ablaze. The memento to a happier, brighter time was reduced to nothing but smoke and ash. With a dramatic flourish, the man stood, leaving Plotz looking at him with obvious bewilderment. 

“W..where are you going? And what was going on with that photograph?” Plotz demanded, pulling at his shirt as sweat began to bead up on his forehead once more. 

“No need to concern yourself with the photograph any longer.” He responded, turning towards the door. “I have a Warner to find and deal with. We don’t want him causing any more problems, now do we?” 

Plotz shook his head as he watched his partner stalk off, out the door. 

For once, he was _almost_ worried for the oldest Warner sibling. 

Almost.

* * *

Wakko had a near death grip on Dot’s hand, and for once, the Warner sister didn’t utter a single word of complaint. Both of them terrified at the thought of themself—or their sibling—being caught and thrown into a water tower **again**. What if they both got caught and spent another sixty years trapped inside—or worse—Plotz wasn’t lying about having a ‘permanent solution’ and got rid of them before they could fix everything and get their eldest brother back? 

“Why is Ralph so dead-set on catching us this time?” Wakko questioned as the two of them scrambled around a corner. The middle sibling glanced back to his sister as she stumbled a step, before regaining her stride. 

“You know how I said Plotzy was the one behind all of this?” Dot was silent for a moment as Wakko nodded. “Well, ol’ Ralphy-boy was the one to catch me and lock me up in the tower. Doing the dirty work for Plotzy, as usual, though, I feel like Plotzy threatened to axe him this time if he didn’t deliver.” Usually the guard gave up within an hour or two if he couldn’t catch the Warners, but last time...he’d been determined—that, and Dot had been _certain_ she’d heard Yakko’s voice. Such a thought seemed silly to her now, why would he be looking for her when he’d been so enraged when she’d ‘broken into’ the water tower on that fateful night? 

Wakko glanced back at Dot, a brow quirked. “Ralph _actually_ caught you? Are you sure you’re a Warner?” 

Dot glared back at him, cheeks puffing out all the while. “Listen here, _you_ —” 

“Hey!” Ralph shouted. Both Warner siblings jumped at his voice—when had he gotten so close to them? Had they slowed down that much while they’d been talking? 

Dot glanced back at Ralph before she looked at Wakko once more. “Do you trust me?” She questioned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

Wakko was silent for a moment as he mulled it over. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going, but....if she _was_ his sister, then surely, he could trust her. At this point, what else did they have to lose? She‘d already been caught once and Yakko didn’t remember _either_ of them, after all. 

Wakko nodded once. 

“Let's split up.” Dot stated. Not a question, an _order_ , another part of Dot that reminded Wakko distinctly of Yakko. It was clear that she was more like Yakko than himself, if she was even like Wakko _at all_. As fun as she seemed, maybe he hadn’t gotten along with her when **did** remember her. The thought along sent an intense pain in Wakko’s chest, but he had to ignore it for now. “I’ll distract him, and maybe you could pull something out of your gag bag to handle him long enough for us to get away.” Dot continued on, clueless to Wakko’s internal thought process. 

“Sounds good to me!” Wakko agreed. He’d just need to follow her lead; it was always easier to pull something from his bag when it was humorous. 

For a moment, Dot was reticent to pull her hand from Wakko’s grasp. What if something went wrong? What if Ralph caught her again—or worse, caught _Wakko_? 

Wakko’s expression was unerring, and Dot gave her brother’s hand a firm squeeze in reassurance—for herself or for Wakko, she wasn’t even certain herself—before she let go. 

Dot darted away from Wakko’s side, cupping her hands around her mouth as she turned to face Ralph, backpeddling all the while. “Hey, Ralphy~!” She called out in a sing-song voice. “Come and get me, I bet you won’t be able to do it a second time!” 

The guard slowed his pace, befuddlement clear in his expression. He knew something was amiss, but he couldn’t parse _what_ it was exactly. He spared a glance to the other Warner sibling, but ultimately returned his gaze to Dot, and started in her direction. If Plotz had wanted her caught first, then surely that meant she was priority number one, right? 

Wakko pulled his bag from his hammerspace, reaching shoulder-deep into it and digging around for a few moments before his hand grasped a steel container from within its depths. 

“Ah. A classic.” Wakko muttered to himself as he pulled a metal container labeled: Oil. 

The middle sibling unscrewed the top from the container and hurried towards Dot and Ralph, tipping the container enough to pour out its contents onto the concrete in front of the guard’s path, but not where himself or Dot would slip on it. 

The guard didn’t stand a chance. It was almost sad as it was funny. As soon as Ralph’s feet were on the oil he began to slip and slide, before falling onto his stomach, staining his, once only crumb-covered, uniform. 

The two Warner siblings high-fived and let out gleeful laughs before scurrying off once more, leaving Ralph to try—and fail—at getting back up on his feet. 

As the guard had to crawl out of the oil puddle another voice rang out from behind him. “Hey Ralph! Whaddaya doing?” 

The guard froze. The one toon that Plotz didn’t want catching sight of who Ralph had _just_ been chasing was now standing behind him. 

Ralph clambered to his feet, wringing his oil covered hands together in a nervous fashion. 

“I, uhhh....” Ralph couldn’t think of a believable answer quick enough. 

Yakko, and Sir Croaks-A-Lot who had hopped to a stop beside the toon, regarded the security guard with amusement. “Looks like you got a tiny stain on your uniform.” Yakko then looked down at Sir Croaks-A-Lot with an expression that radiated _can you believe this guy?_. 

Ralph looked down at himself, the oil covered the entirety of his front side, from shirt collar to boots. “Yeah, I, uh....” 

“Slipped and fell?” 

Ralph nodded. 

“You know how toons are,” Yakko gave a slight shrug, “they can’t hold their oil containers.” 

Ralph tensed. He’d seen it _all_ , and if he told Plotz then the guard was effectively screwed. 

“I, uh, didn’t say anything about toons.” Ralph was visibly sweating at this point, avoiding looking at the toon in front of him. “I should be going now, I have to chase—I mean, I need to, uhhhh, get back to work!” The guard, unconvincingly, lied. 

Yakko just smirked up at the guard. At the very least, he’d given the two toons more time to make their getaway. 

It was bewildering to the toon as to why he’d felt pride in his chest at their coordinated escapade, and he feared another migraine if he started _really_ mulling it over. 

Still, he had to know _why_ the guard had been chasing both toons—and with the way Ralph was acting, he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer. 

“Going back to your guard shack then, Ralphy?” Yakko asked, watching as Ralph’s expression switched from nervous to surprised. 

“Oh, uh.....of course! Where else would I go? Definitely not after those two toons!” The guard let out a nervous laugh, before heading in the _opposite_ direction of the where the two toons had scurried off in. 

Yakko watched the guard until he turned the corner. If he was going to get answers, he was going to have to approach them, hat in hand, and get them from the source. 

The Warner toon began to run in the direction the two toons had sprinted off in—he doubted they’d run very far once they’d realized Ralph had given up the chase. 

Or at least Yakko hoped that they would do that, because— 

Yakko skidded to a halt, nearly running into someone that he _knew_ wasn’t standing there moments earlier. 

“Excuse me, Pal,” Yakko began, in a tone that insinuated the man was anything **but** , “but do you make it a habit to stand right in somebody’s way?” 

The man, dressed in a gray robe, like some sort of stereotypical wizard from a nineties movie, looked at Yakko, hands steepled. He grinned down at the toon, all teeth, and there was something _off_ about the man that caused Yakko’s fur to stand on end. 

The man continued to stare at Yakko, like he was looking at a bug. 

“You’re, uh, quite the charmer, aren’t you?” Yakko’s voice dripped with sarcasm. The Warner moved to walk around the man, only for him to throw an arm out in front of Yakko. 

“You couldn’t resist sticking your unusually large nose where it didn’t belong, could you?” He asked, his voice as light and unbothered as if he were talking about the weather. 

Yakko froze, turning his head to look at the man. “Could you uhhhhh run that by me again?” 

The man snorted, turning to face Yakko fully. One hand rested on his hip as his other gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “You know. You may not have put _all_ the pieces together, but you are beginning to. You know something is amiss.” 

Yakko’s brows furrowed. “Listen, uhhh, Buddy, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about, but I have definitely got better things to do than play this weird game of yours. It’s not even fun.” 

“Those two running from the guard,” He continued talking as if Yakko hadn’t said anything at all. “why go after them if you don’t know anything?” 

What the hell was this guy’s problem? Yakko took a step back, though the man only took one forward. 

“What do you remember?” He asked. 

“I think you got me confused for some other charming and suave toon.” Yakko retorted, though there was an almost nervous edge to his voice. 

The man studied him, “I don’t think you truly recall that they’re your siblings, but...there is something there. _Flashes_ of memories, perhaps?” 

Siblings? This man also thought Yakko was related to those two? Wait—the _headaches_ , they were always preceded by some weird, and very fuzzy, recollection, whether purely auditory or accompanied by the ability to remember what else was occurring at the same time. 

The kid in the blue sweater _hadn’t_ been lying then, and Yakko had been a complete and utter _jerk_ to the poor toon—no, to his poor **brother**. 

And what about the other toon? The girl. With the way the man said _siblings_ that had to mean she was related to Yakko as well. 

He had a brother **and** a sister. 

How did that feel unreal and yet _fitting_ at the same time? Like the last piece to a puzzle had been slotted into place. 

Suspicion filled Yakko from head to toe, and he narrowed his eyes at the man. “You’re not telling me this out of the kindness of your heart. What’s your game?” Maybe if Yakko could get him monologuing then he could take advantage of that situation and make his getaway ~~and find his siblings and beg their forgiveness for his earlier actions~~. 

The man grinned even wider at him, tilting his head a few degrees to the side. For once, there was a flicker of respect in his eyes. “You’re the first one to question my motives in a _long_ time. I should have made you be forgotten first.” 

_What?_ Yakko forced a bright, winsome grin. “And make the ladies forget about all of this?” He motioned to himself. “That would be a crime!” 

The man snorted. “It would have been fun to watch your siblings suffer without an older brother to guide them. Though,” He tapped his index finger against his chin, “I suppose they are doing that now, and without any help from others either.” 

Yakko Warner was more of a _pen over the sword_ type of toon, but talk of his siblings—even if he couldn’t remember them being his siblings—set a fire in his chest. “Don’t worry.” Yakko just managed to keep his voice even keeled. “I’ll be joining them soon enough so they won’t be alone.” 

At this, the man actually laughed, taking a moment to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve spent too much time on this endeavor, and besides,” He rubbed his hands together, “I’m enjoying watching the dominos fall too much to let you ruin everything. You won’t be leaving this with your memories intact, I’m afraid.” 

The man reached out to grab Yakko, but before his hand touched the toon, Sir Croaks-A-Lot leapt from where he’d been sitting on the ground next to the eldest Warner sibling. The frog bit down on the man’s finger; while it wasn’t painful, it was more than enough to distract him. 

Yakko didn’t hesitate in the slightest, instead he took the opportunity to sprint off like his life depended on it—and at the very least, his memories apparently did. 

The man let out an enraged noise, shaking his hand hard enough to fling Sir Croaks-A-Lot off of his finger. 

The frog hit the ground, skidded a few feet, and lay there, unmoving, on the concrete as the man stalked off. 

He had a Warner to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 02/27/21, I did delete the previous version of this chapter and reposted this. A good friend of mine, who happened to read a portion of the chapter in its divvied sections (which is how I write it) let me know that my chapter was missing a few of those portions. I didn't realize that when I was slotting my chapter together (I usually write my chapters on 5-9 different phone notes then slot them all together before I post) I forgot to add a couple of integral portions to the chapter and was bewildered by comments on here and on my tumblr stating that Plotz's business associate had 'come out of nowhere' and that it was 'writing comparable to a middle schooler having his partner magically know where Yakko was and try to bully him'. 
> 
> Hopefully this version makes a tad more sense. Sorry for the repost, but I felt it needed to be read like this instead of the previous version. 
> 
> Anyways, back to your regularly scheduled broadcast 😄💖
> 
> Once again: Thank you for reading! Your kudos and comments make my day! 😄💖

**Author's Note:**

> If the grim reaper and vampires exist in the original series, who says evil magic users can't? I don't even know how this came to mind, I'm just your cryptid night shifter who works on an ambulance and drinks too much coffee. 
> 
> This is my first time writing a fanfic in...a long time, and is definitely my first Animaniacs fic. Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter, any and all kudos/comments are greatly appreciated! :)


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